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/tg/ - Traditional Games

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Get out your crickets; it's been two weeks since the last part of Bound Fate.

Archived Threads can be found here:
Part 1 - http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/23271053/

Part 2 - http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/23548738/

And the fully formatted story-so-far can be found here: http://1d4chan.org/wiki/Bound_Fate_(Warhammer_High)

Note: 4chan doesn't support italics; sudden switches to first-person present tense are the character's active thoughts.
Arbitrator-Patrolman Sark Diamin watched the exchange carefully, the ever-dwindling stub of a lho stick the only clue to his shadowed presence from the dealer's side of the street. The buyer started talking again, a little angry.
“Yeah, just the fuckin' 'slaught Kaljar, nothin' fancy.” Garnas heaved with anger, and his dealer winced at the idea of what 'slaught would do to the hulking monster of a man. He wasn't tall, but his broad shoulders rippled with power and his eyes spoke of indescribable fury.
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Waifufaggotry, where?

I see a twelve-year old overdosing on slide in Chapter 2...

A chem-addled mutant murder/rapist in chapter... 12 or 13, maybe? I can't remember, screwed up the chapter numbering.

Oh, and let's what happened Wednesday morning! Hitting women isn't exactly waifu-normal, though.
“Of course, Garnas. You want 'slaught, you get 'slaught. Just thought you might want something to help wind down after the job, relax a little.”
The thug smiled, revealing a rack of uneven yellow teeth. “I don't need to relax after a job, Kal.” His eyes twinkled, and Kaljar could see blood and violence in them. “Just takin' care of another Calef legbreaker or five'll let me sleep easy tonight.”
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Oh! Well, there are no superhuman teens in this chapter. Just another couple dead bodies.
The dealer swallowed heavily, even as he exchanged 'slaught for cold credits, and Garnas turned to leave.

“House Calef, what'd they do?”

Garnas stopped, and his breathing began to accelerate as he thought of the job ahead. “They pissed somebody off, Kal, and that means I get a reason to be pissed off.” The fierce teeth appeared again. “And I'll take it as long as it comes with creds.”
“Alright, well if you feel like slidin' later, you let me know, eh Garn?” Kaljar smiled weakly at the departing thug, then pocketed his creds and made for the next stop. His vox appeared in hand, and the last Diamin heard before the dealer disappeared into the night was a name.


“You're not fooling everyone.” Sark turned abruptly, eyes wide with anger and surprise, hand at the stubpistol on his belt. Arbitrator-Detective Idiam Thar stepped into view. “And I know you heard me coming.”

Sark turned away, then spoke in a voice equal parts gravel and glass. “What makes you think I heard ya comin' Detective? I'm just keepin' an eye on our streets is all.”

“Then I'll bring you in myself for dereliction of duty. You saw that deal happen.”
Sark smiled now, blue eyes twinkling oddly. “Suffer the rat to catch the grox, Detective Thar. Bravo.” His voice had changed; the words were now crisp and the tone modulated. “How did you pick me out?”

Idiam smiled now, the thin line of his mouth just crooking up at the ends. “You don't smoke. You just let the lho sit there and burn away.”

Doug smiled, revealing stained teeth under thick lips. “I do detest narcotics, Detective.”

“Then use a toothpick.” Idiam pulled a container from his own coat and a small, clean toothpick appeared. Doug stubbed out the lho stick on his pistol, adding to its worn appearance, then pocketed the remaining paper jumble. He pulled a single toothpick and slid it between his lips, and it began to dart to and fro under his tongue's influence.

“Thank you, Detective. As for the transaction you saw, I assure you it's all part of Officio business.”
Thar shook his head. “We're doing the autopsy on that cut-up mutant you left in the lower hive.”

“Ah, Klotch. Yes, colorful fellow. King of Tetra and all that. I hope he wasn't too decomposed when you found him?”

“Verispex Jek found some... strange things during his examination.”

“That is to be expected among scavvies and mutants.”

Thar shook his head again. “Not strange like that. He's clean, too clean. Too healthy.” The detective turned to look directly at Doug. “That sound right to you?”

“No, I suppose not.” A hand came to Doug's chin, his eyes glittering with interest. “Perhaps I could be of some assistance in that regard, Arbitrator.”
A half-hour later, two street Arbitrators bristled in the gray paper suits mandated to enter the Verispex lab. On the table sat a disgusting form, thick with growths and scars. Its massive stomach lay half-open, cut from the navel up and long-drained of its contents. Various more precise cuts and incisions had been made, the flesh and muscle pulled back to expose a strangely empty body.

A small tag on the biggest intact toe labeled the subject as 'Klotch', and detailed his location as 'Section K2, Underhive Border Area'. His head had been severed, and pulled slightly away from the rest of the corpse, its own covering of skin, muscle and fat pulled back to reveal a lopsided rictus. A small man in a paper suit moved about comfortably, speaking loudly for the audio record's benefit.
"There is significant crushing of the pelvic girdle, and chafing of the... ah, groin region." Verispex Jek coughed and continued with the summary, his movements neat and precise. The man seemed completely oblivious to the terrible stench of the body on his table; the sick quiver of its removed organs and growths, many uncategorizable; or the horrifically clean cut that had done half his job for him, splitting the underking in two from the navel up. “It seems our subject was quite active in that regard.”

Doug, still disguised as Sark Diamin, coughed uncomfortably, the toothpick working between his rubbery lips. “Fuck, even'a damn scavvie's gettin' more tail than me.” Corroded teeth, matching his voice perfectly, made their appearance now, directed first at the Verispex–who smiled politely–then at Idiam, who did nothing. “Ah, I'll get ya one o' these days, Thar. You'll see.”
An annoyed cough preempted further conversation. “But, as can be seen here.” Jek peeled back the rubbery flesh of Klotch's ruined face, pointing out clean white ligament, smooth reams of muscle. Even the tumors and growths seemed orderly, flush with blood vessels and nutrient action. “Despite any outward appearance, the subject is remarkably healthy on the inside. I suspect he hadn't taken any chems in several months.” Scraggly, but thick hair was pulled back, revealing a dirty, but otherwise hale scalp.

“Maybe that piece who broke his crank had something to do with it.” Sark smiled again, snapped out a harsh laugh, sallow teeth flashing. “How old you think those busted hips are?”
An hour later Kaljar waited, he'd been waiting forever. Fuckin' skaters. Kal didn't like Foras, the new runner. My new runner. The kid was too young, too obviously on the stuff to be dependable. But that's what Pelsius wants, and what Pelsius wants, Pelsius gets.

Kaljar really had no room to complain. Pelsius' recent rise to power was the only reason he made his bones and got up off of street level work. Still, even a whole hab block ain't much better than street level. Never gonna get anywhere if I gotta worry about my own runners taking off with my slide.

Finally the kid appeared, looking side to side, scrawny body wrapped in a far too large coat stuffed with packages.

Goddamnit, may as well be walking around with a holo up that says 'hey, Arbites! I'm a fuckin' dealer!' Kaljur had little room to talk, himself. He'd been busted on his first day months ago, and there too it was Pelsius who'd saved him. Still none of this occurred to him as he scratched his arm, wanting to scratch another itch entirely. Get the fuck over here, kid.
"Kal, Kal!" Foras almost tumbled to a stop in front of his boss. "I got-" He continued to breathe, "I got- I got the-"
Kaljar grabbed Foras and pulled him into the alley. “Shut the fuck up, kid. Now, you got my cash and my slide? I can't afford to keep you on the roll if you pull the shit you pulled last week."

Foras nodded hastily, then opened the coat. Inside were bags and bags of credits, and one small, solitary bag of slide quickly slid out. He was no idiot, he knew Kaljar had the itch. He's got it bad.

So Foras passed his boss the last bit of slide he had, sure he'd make it through the night without it. The coat came off, it being easier to trade coats then to open and transfer the contents of each pocket. The process revealed a gangly frame and noodle arms, a boy past his sophomore year who still hadn't hit his growth spurt.
Slide ain't helpin' that any. Kaljar thought while he prodded the boy to go faster, complete the swap so he could find a corner and get his fix. His own coat, empty, went onto Foras' shoulders and Kaljar began to reflexively pat the credits, each position well-memorized. He found a pocket, one pocket, that seemed light.

Foras made to leave, but heard the click of a stub pistol and turned back, eyes wide. "You tryin' to short me, Foras?" The kid calling himself Foras stopped, fear plastered across his face.

"I- I didn't short you Kaljar, I just used a little of the slide is all. Honest."

The stubpistol roared, the small sound amplified by the confines of the alley, and the rawboned kid dropped dead in the alley, blood pooling around his back. Fuckin' dumbass. Kaljar took the time to search the kid, finding a paper with some math on it, far beyond Kaljar's limited understanding. A girl's name was circled near the bottom, but he didn't care. Time to leave.
"No, no Doug! You can't!" It was Ev's turn to hold someone back now, as he kept Doug in place. Even with his phenomenal strength it wasn't easy. He's pissed. Ev looked back to Violet, herself watching Callie take off down the street. None of us wanted to see him die. Callie was quick and silent, as usual, while she tailed Kaljar. Even with the indoctrination she was having trouble reining in her emotions after what she'd seen.

"Callidus. Follow, don't kill." Vin's instructions were clear and explicit, and given Doug's current mental state leadership defaulted to the other senior.

"Affirmed." Callie chafed at the orders, even with Vin giving them. She'd heard Doug's reaction over the comms and felt the sting in her own chest. She knew it was an inherent risk of becoming so close to someone, but she felt righteous anger. As well, the indoctrination allowed that she would be comforting him later, so she threw herself into her job with all due efficiency. Finish the mission, kill this bastard.
Callie was perfectly disguised. Her clothing had been padded and altered, and there were lifts in her shoes. The clothing changed her form, made her less noticeable. She was wearing cheek inserts for the first time in a while, and her face was rounder, fuller. The makeup gave her skin a chalky, drawn look, and the falsehood took the luster out of her hair while changing the color to dishwater brown.

Kaljar had no idea he was being followed right now, but even the most inconspicuous tail would draw attention after more than a few minutes down here. So, as he rounded the corner of Cherren and Quinter, Callie continued in a straight line, not trying to hide her presence in the slightest. Kaljar breathed easy as the crone he thought was following him disappeared to the west. Need to get that slide in me, just think I'm seeing things. He felt a sudden fear, an apprehension that disappeared as quickly as it came, and quickened his pace. Damnit, keep it together Kaljar.

Chucho darted along the rooftops above, always in the shadows, always with an eye on Kaljar. Although he showed it less than the others, he too was furious with the dealer, with the unnecessary taking of life. He followed Kaljar as the man continued north. They'd had trouble finding House Edict and this was a last ploy, the last method available without risking Officio-grade gear and information. So he followed Kaljar, waiting for his chance.
Kaljar stumbled again, the tinge of fear returning, and Chucho felt some small relief as the next switch point came up. "Eversor."

"Affirmed, Culexus." Ev waited, dressed in a sleeveless shirt and baggy pants. He'd already allowed himself to be spotted by Kaljar several times, and had even bought a couple hits of 'slaught from the man earlier. So, when Ev turned onto the sidewalk a half-block ahead of Kaljar, swaggering and tossing a lho butt to the street, the dealer thought nothing of it.

Ev was a killer, he was made for it, trained for it even more than the others. He didn't feel the death as much as they did. But he was aware of a rising eagerness to kill the man, beyond what was normally created by the indoctrination. So Ev let it into his stride, let the anger and enthusiasm show themselves in his blustering gait. By making himself so conspicuous, so obviously determined, Ev knew he'd shoot right over Kaljar's radar, a threat to someone else entirely.
Kaljar continued in a straight line. He saw Garnas ahead, and although the two weren't friends, Garnas was a loyal customer nonetheless. He looks pissed. Kaljar wasn't worried. Garnas always took 'slaught before a job, and if Garnas was on the job there'd be no funny business for the next few blocks. So he went, straight ahead, not trying to hide himself or duck through alleys.

By the time Kaljar was ready to turn the corner, Vin had already set himself up on an old-fashioned fire escape high above. An expertly placed tracker bullet slapped the ground behind Kaljar. Not ideal, but it will do. Kaljar jerked, looked around, but only saw a couple of alleyscamps throwing rocks for fun. He was completely unaware of the tracking dust on his boot. By this time Doug and Callie had met up with Violet, and they were waiting for Chucho and the others. Doug was furious, but calming himself down.

"There's nothing we could've done, Doug. We tried to keep him away." Violet was up close, peering up through the third of a meter's worth of height difference between them. "It couldn't be helped."
"I know Violet." They all pulled on their hoods, then slowly began putting on gear as Chucho, and then Ev showed up. Ev stripped off the disguise and rolled on his plaskin shirt, then begin clipping on holsters and sheaths. Soon they were all geared up, pistols, rifles and knives ready. The thermvisors had been exchanged for standard nightvision, and each had a pair of standard smoke grenades.

Never use the same trick twice in a row.

"Losing signal." Vin's voice rang through clearly and this seemed to rouse them. The others pulled on their thermal hoods as well, and the last round of gear checks and interpersonal inspections came after.

"Moving." Vin broke radio silence once more, finally spurring them into action.

"Affirmed, Vindicare. Let's move." Doug, Callie, Violet, Ev and Chucho moved out, fully geared as they had been during the scavvie strike, every piece of equipment untraceable. Vin was catching up to them quickly, remaining close enough to pick up the diminished signal on his portable tracker. "We'll rendezvous a block from the building once the target location's confirmed.
They had a good idea where Kaljar was going. The issue wasn't that they couldn't find where House Edict's operations were centralized, but that there were too many possible locations. Even with the tremendous amount of information provided by the infocytes this block of the hive was too dilapidated and overrun by crime to pin down a central site by heuristics alone. Instead of manually checking each of a few dozen sites, they'd interviewed several dealers. Janus would scan their thoughts, where they'd been, where they thought was important. From this they compiled a likely site, and were following Kaljar to it now.

Doug shook Janus from his thoughts, banished everything but the mission, the strike. Go in high, cut the power, Vin darts the leader and autorifles take care of the rest. According to their information and estimates, there were likely less than twenty gangers present at the distribution site at any one time. It was only half what they'd encountered at the scavvie nest. But they'll be better armed, likely wearing at least flak armor. They waited, in silence, for Vin to confirm the location.


End Chapter 28
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Hey by the way, if anyone has requests for WHH doodles, throw em here. I will gladly kill some time and do some for you all.
Location confirmed, Delta-Seven." Vin called it in; they'd already agreed to radio silence after locating the site, barring emergencies. They broke up into pairs, Ev and Callie, Chucho and Violet, and Doug alone. Each went their separate ways, each found a building to scale unobtrusively. They converged on the target roof, guards already silently dispatched by Vin, to find him standing with a shadowy figure.

"Janus!" Surprising the boy, it was Callie who hugged him first. He was the one who made friends with Foras, helped him with math and tried to dissuade him from completing his run tonight. He was in low spirits. Where the others were angered at the loss of an innocent, young life, Janus was sad. Foras had been a close, if infrequent friend for the past month. They got along well, and had many of the same interests. Janus' spirits were lifted only slightly by Callie's warm presence.

"I... I shouldn't have-" She shushed him again, hugging tighter. The others were uncomfortable.
"I... I shouldn't have-" She shushed him again, hugging tighter. The others were uncomfortable.

While Callie did have a morale element to her indoctrination, the rest were trained to ignore death, the only exception to allow a burst of adrenaline while in danger. They only felt the sting of death as it motivated them to complete the mission.

"Janus." A firm hand clapped on his shoulder. Not as comfortable as Callie, but reassuring. Janus looked up at Doug, his big brother. "You can't blame yourself for this."

"But it's my fault!" Tears came, and Janus very nearly shouted "I should've just given him a compulsion, sent him away."

"That's a slippery slope, Janus. He might've survived tonight, but he'd be back for more slide. He'd find another dealer."
"But he would've had a chance!"

"Yeah, and then we might not have found Edict's operational base tonight. How many people would've died tomorrow, or in a week, or however long it took us to find this place? We have to stop them now, and we can, thanks to Foras."

"I... I should've-"

"You can't blame yourself for this, Janus. It was his choice. If you could've changed his mind, you would have. You shouldn't have to force him, take away his free will, even if it would've given him another day. What if Edict raided another apartment complex, killed another dozen families just to find one competing dealer?"

"You can't just say what would've happened, Doug!"

"And you can't either Janus. You can't say he would've lived through the night any more than I can say he wouldn't have. All we can do is make sure he didn't die in vain."

Janus looked up, eyes resolute.

"We can't let Kaljar live."

No one disagreed.
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I still have that on the back-burner...I just isn't a image I could do in one sit down, I was thinking a little more simpler at the moment.

Also if you guys haven't seen it. Here is the link to my Imperator High Quest, outisde of /tg/.

Kaljar paused in the entryway below, only long enough for the slide to take hold.

"Ahhhh." With the itch scratched, the dealer finally felt his other needs and wants returning. Talk to Pelsius, get something to eat, maybe have a few drinks with the boys.

He walked through the old building, trading slow nods, a few handshakes and a short hug with several of his friends. The walk to Pelsius' office didn't take long, and by the time the door opened Kaljar was already taking the first pack of creds out of its hidden pocket.

"Kaljar!" Pelsius was a tall, handsome man with warm dimples and hair so thick it seemed to crackle with energy.

Give him a change of clothes and he could be a noble patriarch, easy, or a trader lord, no problem. Still, despite the ruddy warmth of his skin and hale figure, Kaljar knew Pelsius was a cold bastard. It's the eyes, blue, frosty as Valhalla. Pelsius had done nothing but treat Kaljar well when he succeeded, and with the bad runner gone Kaljar felt it was only a matter of time until he became the boss's right-hand man.

"Pelsius!" They shook hands and shared a hearty hug.
"You got the creds?" Pelsius sat back in his comfortable chair, feet kicked up on the desk, hands behind his head.

"Yep, as promised." Kaljar unloaded the coat with quick, well-practiced movements. Pelsius gathered up the creds, then stopped.

"You're short, Kal."

"It was the kid, been using the slide again."

"You take care of him?"

"Yep." Pelsius smiled and slid a stack of creds back across the table. Kaljar looked back and forth between his boss and the cash.

"Go ahead, Kal. You saved me more than that tonight. Wish some of the others were smart enough to avoid the skaters." Pelsius let out another beaming smile, and Kaljar took the creds happily.

"Thanks, Pel."

"No problem, Kal. Keep it up and I might be putting you over the other guys, keep 'em in line."

Kaljar smiled to himself, pocketing the creds.

Things are starting to look up after all.

He turned to leave, then the lights went out.
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>child murder
>women abuse
Now I know this phrase gets thrown around a lot, but this shit has gotten way fucking 2edgy4me, especially for something that started out as a premise for a sitcom about primarchs with children.

Seriously, what the fuck /tg/? Can you not have one thing be just silly for the sake of silliness without trying to piss grimderp all over it? You fuckers tried to pull the same shit CATastrophe, too.
You know, you can still have all that shit and still have waifufaggotry. In fact, most shitty fanfiction is equal parts edgy and waifu.
Because grimdark idiots need everything to be bad, ever. They find it fun, and anyone who disagrees is too childish for them to even let be. How dare we actually want something remotely happy and innocent? That's badwrongfun, anon.
>they still havent kissed
Railroaded as fuck.
The strike went exactly as planned. They came in as two teams, Doug, Callie, Vin and Janus on one side, Violet, Ev and Chucho on the other. The nightvision worked perfectly, and the only sight to be seen in muzzle flashes was the blackaquila, a promise of swift and silent death. They broke into the main room, laden with slide packaging, the rear loading doors open to the night of the near-underhive.

When the twelve remaining Edict gangers took cover and opened up with their autorifles, the Atrisangues were ready. They retreated into the upper floors and waited, breaking radio silence to communicate once more.

"You were right Vin, they were expecting us." Doug checked his autorifle, while Vin switched the long barrel on his stubber for a shorter one, better for close quarters. Janus and Callie were preparing their own autorifles with relish.

"How did you know?" Violet asked, over the now open and cycling comms.

"I didn't. But I suspected something was amiss when Klotch turned out to be a toady. This cartel is supposed to be organized, and House Edict could certainly be that organization. Vin agreed."

"Yeah, if they have a center like this in every hab block... eugh." Violet shuddered, and the sound of an autorifle being racked and readied rang out over the comms once more.

"Janus, you ready?" It was Callie again, and Janus nodded, eager to finally use his psychic powers for more than just reconnaissance and intel ops.
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>pull the same shit CATastrophe
on CATastrophe, rather.

And seriously, that shit is just sickening. It almost astounds me how fetishistic this obsession is that you can take something as silly and cutesy as eternal catgirl beach parties and turn it into some sort of grimderp admech ripoff that hunts mutants in megacities or some shit. It was absolutely disgusting.
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My only love is between a fist and a wall. I have failed as a romantic novelist *sobs*
You just realized now that 40k fans are 2edgy5me children that try to hamfist their setting into everything?
He began to whisper the Repetitions of Autonere, bringing to mind in staggering detail the inner workings of the autorifles in the hands below. Although he didn't know specifically what weapon each man possessed, he knew the vast majority of autorifles available were gas operated. Each variation, each design paradigm came to mind, rendered all the more crisply by his memory construct.

Janus chanted the repetitions faster, eyes closed, until he was holding all that he could in his mind. He felt out with his mind, feeling each man in the room below, until all twelve men remaining were located. Satisfied he had all the men and guns picked out, Janus unleashed telekinetic power, the Objuration Mechanicum.

Few of the gangers heard the minor clicks and reverberations as pistons were misaligned, seals were broken or as a needle thin direct-impingement aperture pinched, becoming closed to the firing chamber. Bolt tubes galled against the mechanism surface, springs weakened, firing pins bent or broke. In a matter of seconds Janus had broken every single firearm on the first floor of the building.
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Thats the thing, though. /tg/ can come up with some awfully silly Warhams. I for one love the setting in all its grimderp glory, and I love when /tg/ plays up the derp half of grimderp, it just astounds me that there are so many people who think 40K should be taken seriously.

Yes, giant cockney soccer hooligan mushrooms fighting space knights falling from space in METAL BAWKSES and waging war with magic, metal, and gun alike is rad as hell, but its also silly as hell. And neither of these attributes are enhanced by taking them seriously.

Its like those people who consider TTGL the pinnacle of story telling and a modern fable masterpiece instead of just a fairly shallow loveletter to mecha anime with fun fight scenes.
Doug went first, as soon as he saw Janus' eyes open once more, the bare gleam of crystal blue shining through the gap between his hood and nightvision goggles. It disappeared, leaving the boy's eyes normal once more and Doug was in the doorway. He threw a pistol, snatched up from a dead thug, down the nearby stairs. The gangers opened fire as he dove back behind the wall.

A few managed to actually fire, some rounds even striking where Doug had been standing moments ago. But more screamed as weapons fouled, chambers burst and hot gas streamed into unsuspecting faces. As soon as the firing stopped and the shouting started, Ev dropped down the stairs, twin stubpistols firing. Violet and Chucho appeared at the door, autorifles firing as she moved high and he moved to follow Ev.

Doug made to stand, barely avoiding a smiling Callie and a grim-faced Vin as they joined in. Janus moved to help him, but Doug was up in an instant and he clapped the boy on the shoulder approvingly while they moved to join their friends.

"Nice work, Janus."
So how come SE and AA and DM don't cross-post here, and it's just Ev and ILC? Did they all leave at once?
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*shrugs* They aren't around at the moment?
"Get down!" Pelsius ducked behind his desk, stubpistol drawn, then thought better of it. "And lock the door!" He crawled to the back of the room and gently pushed aside a filing cabinet full of plans and invoices. It moved to reveal a small safe, and Pelsius' agile fingers darted easily over the runepad, then pulled a pair of autopistols from within, tossing one to Kaljar. He hurriedly locked the door, caught the autopistol, then waited. He heard nothing outside and turned to whisper to Pelsius, but the man shushed him. Then his eyes went wide with fear. The door burst open and Kaljar fired, but couldn't see anything to shoot at.

"The fuc-" His failure became evident moments later when a heavy stub round punched through the wall and into his chest. As Kaljar bled he saw shapes enter, black shapes with armbands glittering in the low light, causing his drooping eyes to open all the way.

Blacksnakes... the warp?

Pelsius died ignominiously, impressive only in how long he lasted as the rounds pumped into him, over and over, until he finally ceased breathing. The shapes retreated just as quickly as they came, three pausing briefly to regard Kaljar's lung wound. He felt apprehension again suddenly as one appeared at the door and waved them on. He tried to move, feebly, but the autopistol was kicked from his hand, and they left.

Left me to die.
Bailed out after they got too much hate. Same way ILC is bailing after he is finalizing the mess of grimderp WHH has become.
For what seemed like hours Kaljar lay there, feeling his breath lessen with each moment, his pulse weaken as more blood poured out of him.

This is it, the end. Kaljar felt himself give up, felt himself resign to death after only a few minutes had passed.

Suddenly something stirred, and Pelsius sat up, eyes frosty blue once more. Kaljar shuddered, reanimated by the sight. His eyes were pleading as the boss stood and dusted himself off. Pelsius barely regarded Kaljar as he made to leave, a wide smile on his face. He stopped and stooped down to Kaljar's chest, watching his eyes intently. A piece of adhesive plas from his desk was placed over the chest wound, and Pelsius left, absolutely jubilant.

It took Kaljar five more hours to die, and all he could see in that time was the ecstasy, the certainty on Pelsius' face.

He knew how long it'd take.
Callie opened the motel room door a few hours later and was not entirely surprised to see Doug there, grinning broadly. She tackled him onto the bed, barely remembering to tug at her clothes while he moved beneath her.

"Callidus." She squealed at the codename, remembering the days when they'd first been together. Doug pulled back, as if to breathe. "You know where we're going next?"

"Yeah, Atris, I know." Doug rolled her over, tearing at her clothes, just as he had so many times before in other motel rooms. Her pants came away, then he broke the clasp of her bra. She threw away the worthless undergarment while he jerked her panties down, only pausing to massage her briefly.

"Good, Callidus. Tell me, tell me everything. I want to hear it from your lips." His own pants dropped, and Callie felt him press against her.

Eighteen centimeters, ha. Callie moaned with frustration as he teased her, then finally relented as he stopped teasing. She began going over the mission details they'd painstakingly planned that week, details of the upcoming strike against House Calef's holdings.


End Chapter 29
And then back to more wholesome things.

This. Which is sad, as there were several unfinished WHH stories I thought had potential. Ghosts of Rage is the one I really liked, as it wasn't as angsty as SE's stories, nor as Grimderp as AA.

And then we have this guy, who seems to want to be more Grimderp and Angsty at the same time, and abuses people when they give him critisicm.
Truly, the worst part of WHH is the Writefags.
SE's stories don't have angst in them. Not the ones I've read. Link me to this angst, I want to judge for myself.
"So, you have much experience with 'em?" Furia stood in Farah's garage on the crisp saturday morning, next to the open door, lho smoke drifting lazily out of the workshop. She still couldn't get how Farah did the work she did–exhaust and soot and oil–but couldn't stand lho smoke.

"Well, I haven't worked on one, but I've read the old manuals." Farah was giddy, but in a measured way. She was always excited to work on something novel, be it new or old, and she'd heard enough stories from Hana about these old promethium burners to have a taste for them.

"So... what happened to Victoria?" Farah didn't have much to talk to Furia about, aside from Gorechild, but the beast was already shipshape, and her augmetic hands whirred with restless energy.
Furia chuckled, then snorted as the memory of what happened came fully to mind. "She... uh.. she got tangled up in something over her head." Farah looked blankly at her, the vague nature of the statement rendering it meaningless. Fuck, I'm starting to talk like Doug. Fucker. Furia took another drag and closed an eye, looking up with the other.

"Let's see... she, uh, she... thought she was in control of a situation and it came back and bit her on... the... ass! Yeah, bit her on the ass." Furia smiled, satisfied with the explanation.

"Furia." Farah's demeanor had changed subtly, instead of a blank stare it was a flat glare. "I'm not an idiot. Just 'cause I haven't jumped into bed yet doesn't mean I don't know what Victoria's... uh..." She blushed now as she realized she didn't really have a comfortable word for it.

Furia smirked. "Alright, alright, I'll tell you from the start."

Farah sighed, adjusted her gear-print bandana, then picked up a ratchet, restless hands playing with it.
"Alright, so fuckin', uh, what was it? A month ago? Monday of the LFT I find Coby fuckin' Vicky in the bathroom." Farah's face went slack at the frank declaration, and she blushed a little. Furia smiled, enjoying her reaction, and continued after another drag.

"So I break him, break up with him, whatever. I'm storming down the hallway, and some dumbshit gets in my way." She gestured out the door.

"Then Yarrick shows up and pulls me off before I kill him, and the fucker gets up like it was nothing." Furia chuckled a little, mirth and indignation mixing. "He goes back to class, I get Sebastian's office."

Farah crooked an eyebrow. "Sebastian?"
Furia shrugged. "Eh, he's friends with my dad." She coughed. "So, anyway, later that day, during the LFT, I'm looking to take the combat challenge and Doug accepts." She smiled evilly at this, but it quickly disappeared with an exhalation of smoke. "Then, that Friday-"

"Wait, wait, wait." Farah held up a hand. "I heard about that, didn't you lo-"

Furia's eyes bulged madly and the lho-stick, cut neatly in half by her teeth, plopped to the ground. "Technically, he technically won. I was the one who walked out on my own two feet. And he hit the ground first."

Farah closed her eyes and scratched her head. "Oh yeah, yeah." Now I remember why I don't hang around with Furia.

Furia spit out the lho stub and inserted a fresh replacement, quickly lit by a match. "So, that Friday I'm bumming around Hive Tetra, looking for something to do. And I see this sorta familiar-looking guy giving me the evil eye." Another cloud of smoke. "Turns out it's dumbshit. Some stuff happens, and we end up stealing the car." She gestured again to the outside, and Farah's eyes went wide. "Stole it from a chop shop, Farah, I don't think they had a claim to it."
Farah relaxed again, idly wringing a wrench between her hands. It bore scratch marks and indentations from a long history of such use.

"So, Doug and I ended up going out." Furia smiled again, an entirely different smile. "Some other shit happens and Tuesday comes."

"You got into a fight with Hana?"

"She picked a fight with me." Furia's eyelid twitched dangerously, but she settled back into storytelling soon enough. "So I kick her ass and get sent home, loverboy shows up after school to give me a massage." Farah blushed again, and Furia simply winked. "He leaves pretty quick afterward, saying he's got to go some mission thing or some shit." A wad of phlegm zipped out of the garage. "So I decide to go get my jacket back from Coby, left it over at his place."

A low sound rumbled from the distance, like the mournful wail of a dying animal. They both stopped instinctively, but after a moment Furia returned to the story.

"I get over there, turns out he left it at Victoria's." She paused again, a vein on her neck starting to throb.
"Why was it-" Furia silenced Farah with a withering glare.

"Trust me, you don't wanna know. So I'm pissed and I head over to good ol' Vicky's to get my damn jacket back, and who do I see Vicky taking it off for?"

"Coby?" Farah closed her eyes and scratched her head again, uncomfortable at this.

"Nope. Doug." Furia's face went dangerous, her voice cool as she took another drag, and Farah's eyes went wide. Furia inhaled deeply, as if preparing to scream, then stopped short,. "Haaah, I fucking got you!"

Farah began to laugh, mostly out of relief while Furia puffed contentedly.

"Turns out he figured out I'd lost my jacket... Dunno how. Anyway, he went to get it for me. Let miss priss think he wanted in to fuck her, got her going and then took the jacket and left."

Farah smiled, glad to hear a happy ending. "Aww, that's sweet! I guess..."

"Yeah, yeah. I was pissed at the time, though." Furia took another short drag. "But we talked it out. Didn't hurt that he left Victoria high and... uh, wet, in her dad's room." Furia snorted and laughed again, warmed by the memory.

"Wait, you mean... he..." Farah tried to talk, but she was confused and her mouth didn't quite cooperate.
"No, no. I mean, I thought so too." Furia pinched out the lho stick and tucked it under a wild, bloodred tress. "Doug talked her into... getting herself ready. Then locked her in her dad's room." Furia laughed again, a long, evil laugh.

Farah tried to laugh, but instead just felt a little embarrassed, and sorry for Victoria. "Isn't that... I mean, was that the right thing to do to Victoria?"

Furia looked at her oddly, then nodded with a small frown. "Well, she'd just fucked my last boyfriend and was trying to fuck my new one, so I didn't stop to think about it."

Farah blushed again, not sure she wanted to hear anymore. "Well, all's well that ends well, I guess!"

Furia nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Vicky got what was coming to her and I got what was mine in the first place." She tugged on the jacket. "And I even got a half-decent boyfriend out of it all, so, go figure, you know?"

"So... is that the car? From the story, the one you stole?" Farah strained her ear, hearing the mournful wail grow ever louder. It ached her to hear an engine, even one without a machine spirit, in such agony.
"Yep, sounded bad. Think he said it was overtightened bearings." Furia turned and walked out of the garage, then looked up over the wall surrounding the Manus family compound fortress-home. "Could just be a bad fan. He might be right, though." She smirked.

Farah stepped outside with Furia, the sound giving her renewed vigor, the challenge a definite purpose and the- "Oh shit!" Farah clapped both hands over her face in shock.

Furia laughed and Farah's eyes fairly popped out of her head as she stared at the towering plume of steam approaching her house, growing in perfect time with the screech of overheated metal. The plume neared her home it suddenly stopped approaching, continuing to spill gently into the sky. The screech, as well as the rumble of the motor it drowned out, died as well, followed by a series of pops and chugs, then a final settling and hiss.

Furia snickered again. "Goddamnit Doug, can't you even-" She lost herself to laughter completely, something blurring by her, as the car finally rolled into view. The gates opened to reveal a sweaty Doug pushing the sleekly lined vehicle, one hand on the A pillar while the other steered. He breathed evenly, measured hisses coming with each step.
Doug's task became suddenly easier, then unnecessary, then he fell into the seat and began steering as Farah Manus pushed the vehicle fervently from behind, now more ready than ever to see it through. The old musclecar came to a slow, squealing rest in Farah's garage, coolant, oil and other fluids dripping onto her garage floor. Doug looked it over and frowned.

"My apologies, Miss Manus." He looked up and inclined his head. "I fear it's far worse than I'd originally surmised."

Farah inhaled deeply as she opened the hood and began to prod, scenting the strained metal, overheated fluids and old promethium. It's a good smell.

"That's okay." She began to pull and pluck at things, metal hands uncaring of the hot ironcas. "And you can call me Farah."

Doug stepped forward and took her free hand, laying his other over it and giving three firm pumps. "Please, call me Doug, Farah." He pulled back his hand, finding it covered in oil.

"Sorry." Farah closed her eyes and smiled, readjusting her bandana yet again, oil spotting and staining it.

"Quite alright, Ms. Manus. However, I'm afraid I'll have to excuse myself for now, to go get what parts I have. If that's okay?" Farah barely nodded in affirmation as she tore into the engine. Doug nodded back and walked by Furia, who grabbed him suddenly and eyeballed him. She's a little uneasy.

"What parts, and how're you gonna bring 'em?" Doug smiled. The sounds of a ratchet wrench clinking and spooling echoed through the garage.
"I have access to a... company airvan. It's quite full of parts, some from the same place as the car, including a new motor." Furia's eyes went wide while hoses and wires came undone with speed and precision.

"Wait, you have a fucking van and you never told me?" Furia's hand wrapped threateningly in Doug's collar.

More bolts clinked, more wires rustled.

"A company van, Furia. It's not at my leisure to use." She eyeballed Doug again, and he responded with a small shrug.

"Alright, fine, but you're getting off easy." Doug leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. "Uh, uh, fucker." Furia pulled him into a deeper kiss, feeling territorial.

"Now get, we got work to do, right Farah?" Doug couldn't help but smile to himself at how defensive Furia was acting.

It's cute. He frowned and searched his vocabulary, but quickly realized no other word in low gothic properly conveyed the feeling.

"Can I keep the old engine?" The car rocked and shook, then settled at an odd cant.

Doug and Furia looked over, Furia's mouth dropping just slightly as they saw Farah finish muscling the one hundred and sixty kilo engine out of the motor bay and hold it aloft.

"Please, by all means, Farah. I'm sure it could benefit from your, ah, delicate touch."
Two hours later the airvan, stripped of all OTPF gear and its chameleonic coating altered to resemble an old, dingy paint job and further covered with old carpets and blankets on the inside, vectored gently into Farah's workshop and settled down. Doug was not wholly surprised to see the radiator, transmission and rear gearbox already removed.

A set of greasy, heavily trousered legs slid out from under the jacked-up vehicle, revealing Farah, who began pulling off the last of the tires as well. She popped up soon after, sweating, oily and radiating confident satisfaction. She opened the rear hatch and began disconnecting the lifter arms before realizing Doug was standing over her, hands clasped behind his back.

"Oh, hi Doug. I hope you don't mind I got kinda... carried away."

Doug couldn't help but smile at her quiet humility. "Please, Ms. Manus. I'm beginning to fear I should have brought the car to you in the first place, instead of attempting the initial repairs myself. By all means continue, I will begin the unloading." He turned, then stopped. "And please, let me know if you require any assistance."

Farah was already back in the car, a piece of scrap wood propping up the rear hatch as the second lifter arm came off. Doug shook his head and grinned. Extraordinary.
Is anyone even reading this?
He began pulling out all manner of parts and pieces, several of which were obvious counterparts of those already on the floor. All of them were an odd medium gray or silvery color, a different finish than the removed parts, and much lighter.

A new transmission was pulled and hefted neatly into the back of the garage. A new, high rear gearbox, brake pads and calipers, lifter arms and shocks for the hood and rear hatch came next. Then wheels, bolt-holed parts to be attached to the engine, a new radiator, clean and silvery, and bundles of wire and hose, including clamps and ties.

A small, oddly shaped part with several long bolts and visible cogs came next, followed by a thin, wheel-shaped gear, several bags containing dozens of bolts of uniform length, several bags of washers and nuts, and a red box with a positive/negative terminals, an old-style battery.

Then came the fluids, all manner of jugs and small, boxy bottles, containing liquids of various colors and consistencies, followed by pressurized cans, some with long straws. Two long, heavy pieces of pressed metal appeared, each of which nearly mastered Doug, then a large sheet of thinner steel and finally the engine itself.
He jumped in and activated the microvectors on the one by one-and-a-half meter repulsorlift. It was rented on his own limited funds and the deposit secured via 'company' funds. To be returned, of course, after I return the lift. Doug tugged it out slowly, then began dialing up the repulsor strength as he eased it out of the van. The lift fell heavily, but cushioned itself with a perceptible gush of air and vectored dust.

"Is that the engine?" Doug turned to see Farah crouched unexpectedly next to him, hands quickly prodding at the engine, the microsensors and instruments contained within analyzing it. "Is this a stock restoration piece?" Farah began to pull the lift, moving it easily to a chain dropped from the heavy-beam rafters. Bolts were removed from several spots around the hunk of ironcas and threaded back into their holes through a chain link, until a web of chains wound above the engine.

"It was, however, I found it already opened and prepared for a few modifications, so I completed them." Doug began removing the top of the engine, still loose, as Farah easily lifted it into the air.
"The combustion chambers have been expanded to 6600 cubic centimeters, quite impressive considering the size of the small engine block, a raised deck, a lowered, single-billet intake manifold, modified plenum and airbox to accommodate the larger injectors, high capacity dish pistons and a slightly altered camshaft."

Farah nodded as she picked through the internals herself, then began rebuilding the engine. The assembly seemed to go by in an instant. Doug would hand a packaged part, including any gaskets, sealant, nuts, bolts, fluids and washers required to Farah, who had read up on the Ellis motor series days before, after talking to Furia about the project.

Doug found himself hard pressed to keep up with the girl's augmetic hands and boundless enthusiasm despite the ease of his task, and soon enough the breakneck pace paid off, leaving a complete engine on the stand. They were both sweating and greasy, but made good use of the downtime, discussing the proper way to install the powertrain.

"I can see the merits of joining the engine and transmission before installation, Farah. But I think your understanding of mechanics and tools will prove far more insightful."

Farah sat back, polishing off the rest of her water. "Well, I think the idea of using the repulsorlift to hold up the tranny while we drop in the motor will do fine. It'll be hard to connect them after installation, but-" She held up her hands, augmetics whirring, and smiled. "I think I can handle it."
She began to imagine the process, bringing a fresh gleam to her eye, then skipped over to the Yviete transmission and set it gently on the lift. Doug dialed up the repulsors and followed the lift over to the car while Farah hoisted the engine high, then swung the picking assembly to direct the load over the engine bay. As she aligned it and began making small positional adjustments Doug slid under the driver's side door and dialed in the repulsor lift, carefully positioning and squaring the transmission before lifting it into place.

Farah began to fluster as the hoist assembly failed to meet her needs. Extra slack flowed into the midchain and was hooked around a large, downward facing hook, then the tension released. She grabbed the engine herself and lifted, and the midchain come loose, giving her complete control over the block's movement.

Progenitor physiology and augmetic hands were strained by but more than equal to the task. Farah barely noticed Doug dart behind her and hang off the midchain, providing a counterweight as she maneuvered the engine into place. The assembly began to fail again, the last elusive centimeter of clearance over the motor mounts frustrating her.

Nope. WHH doesn't have fans any more, the haters drove them all away.
She began to move the engine more precisely, exerting more and more of her prodigious strength as Doug hoisted down on the chain. After another fifteen minutes of gruelingly exact physical labor, Farah was finally satisfied and nodded to Doug. He let go of the midchain slowly, and the slack began to play out as she carefully settled the engine into place.

Just as the chain ascended from Doug's reach Farah became unbalanced, pitching forward past the motor mounts. He rushed and grabbed her around the waist, heaving back and giving her the last bit of force needed to properly, perfectly seat the engine. Neither of them heard the garage doors open before they collapsed, gasping, against the car.

"Whew! That was a lot of effort." Farah panted.

"Yes, most difficult. But I firmly believe the outcome was more than worth the exertion."

"Doug?" He turned at the mention of his name, only just now becoming aware of the position he was in against Farah. Or, rather, against her backside.

"Yes, Furia?" Her eye twitched.

"Oh, hi Johor!" Doug turned at Farah's remark to see Johor Tull standing at the outer garage entrance, looking just as displeased as Furia, and almost as sad as she did angry.
The haters or the writefags? Both were equally detestable to everyone.
Any thoughts?
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Dont be such grumps! :D
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Anybody reading out there? I can't see lurkers, unfortunately.
Funny how the thread died when the OP realized nobody cared.
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Hmm? Nah, I've been working through a critique. I'll start posting again when I'm done there

OP, it's quite blatantly obvious that nobody gives a fuck. Have you had a single post telling you they like this shit and want you to do more? Nope, every last not-you post has been haters, flamers and people who don't care. You're fighting a losing battle here, WHH just isn't popular anymore and no-one wants to hear about it. Your efforts, while admirable are also futile. Posting endless amounts of story no-one will read is a waste of time and bandwidth. Maybe you can find a new place for WHH where people will actually like it elsewhere, like on fanfction.net, /tg/chan por somewhere like that where people will actually read and appreciate this story. But you won't find that here, you've outstayed your welcome.

Polite sage for rant.
>Your efforts, while admirable are also futile
Not only futile, but counterproductive, since he actively antagonizes people.

He does? How so?
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Bump while writan.
Alright, back to business.


Furia paced, the pair of lho-sticks clenched between her teeth throwing out great brumes of smoke. The garage's door opened and Doug stepped out and closed it behind him. Furia's glare preempted any need for words on her part.

"Please, Furia, we were just putting it in... the engine, I mean!" Doug coughed, as much to suppress a laugh as to relieve the nervous tension coursing through him.

"Yeah, I bet you were!" Furia fairly snarled the words, a pair of lho-halves dropping neatly to the ground, soon followed by their brethren and the sound of a fresh trio being lit up.

"Furia, what on Terra makes you think I would attempt to... so crudely interact with Miss Manus after just meeting her?" Doug walked forward, glad that the sweat of the hard eight hours' work covered up his apprehension.

"Why not? You guys seem to be getting along pretty well together with that fucking car, don't even need me!"

"Furia, I confiscated that car as much for you as for my use." Doug stepped closer at a steady pace. Slow enough not to appear aggressive, fast enough to show his lack of fear.

"Well if you got that car for me, then just fucking forget about it!" Furia turned, the outburst revealing tears at the corners of her eyes. In her mind she saw Victoria and Doug, over and over again. She felt betrayal and abandonment.
Doug moved closer still, his voice now defiant. "I refuse to forget a single memory about that car!"

Furia advanced on him, happy for a reason to be angrier. "Yeah? And why's that?"

"I drove that car for one evening, and every moment of that night is worth remembering."

"D- Damn you!" They embraced, and Doug felt immense relief flow through him, even as she nearly crushed him.

"Perhaps we should leave for the night, Furia. Farah and Johor have their own business to discuss. I'd rather spend the rest of my weekend doing more important things."

"Yeah, like what?" Furia's hand rooted into her pocket, digging for the lho pack.

"Whatever you want, Furia."

Furia stopped rooting and pulled back, ready to call Doug a liar.

She couldn't.
Fuck, why the fuck do I have to watch this bitch. Ev was furious halfway across Startseite, and though he was only dressed as a student right now, he had every wish in the world to be a dealer or thug. Any excuse to vent his anger.

Across the small, cozy Startseite street sat Victoria Fulgrim, eating a meal of caille en sarcophage in a wine reduction, mixed with a sauce containing foie gras and truffles. All these things were rare before the fall of mankind, but now they were virtually priceless.

Fuckin' meal costs more than my Exie. Ev smiled briefly as he though of his Executioner pistol back in the Tueor, waiting for a mission that could justify its use.

Victoria smiled and laughed, perfect white teeth flashing at the dumbfounded waiter. He bumped into another man, spilling the jug of ice-cold water, and Victoria laughed further still, platinum blonde tresses swaying. Most men would be just as weak-kneed as the waiter right now, watching her eat so gracefully, each motion seductive and queenly. All Ev could see was Violet's face turning so red he thought it'd burst into flames.

And Victoria's smug smile. Fuckin' lucky Chucho was there.
Ev finished his grinder, the thick, crusty bread just what he needed to work out his tension, then turned back to his Imperial history assignment. Who cares when Necromunda was founded? Violet crying flashed through his mind again, and the stylus in his fingers broke in two.

Fuck this. Ev started to get up, to abandon his mission, but only started. The indoctrination took hold, forcing him back now. Remember the mission, protect your team, protect the Daughters.

Protecting the Daughters took precedence over protecting his team. Ev didn't know what would happen if one of the indoctrinated were to physically attack a Daughter but, knowing his father, it couldn't be good. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, saw Victoria Fulgrim and her friends. More like cronies. They began to leave, having finished their meal. The girls made a big show of it, kissing cheeks and hugging. Ev didn't believe any of it really mattered to Victoria.

The others dispersed, while Victoria waited, tapping something out on her adjutor, and Ev finally got up to leave. I'm finally fucking allowed to leave. Victoria strutted over to her personal gravcar, it being one of the rare days when she decided to drive herself and he left as well.

Or he tried to.
"Oh, it's you.” Victoria sounded disappointed somehow, like she'd expected anyone else to be on the sidewalk. “What're you doing here?" Ev saw her face reflected in a window. It was beautiful, but haughty; seductive, but far too smug. He breathed slowly, vaguely remembering something about meditating he'd heard one time when Doug was lecturing Janus.

"I'm talking to you, or are you a coward? Can't even stand up for your little girlfriend?" Ev turned to see Victoria's face even more conceited somehow, standing in front of her expensive gravcar.

"What's your fucking problem? Huh?" Ev stormed across the street, only half-hoping he wouldn't try to hit her like he did last month. "You pissed 'cuz daddy doesn't love you? Huh? You gotta pick on other people to make yourself feel better?"

Victoria's fine features twisted into a mask of rage as he stalked up to her. It was almost comical, the one point six meter Ev standing in front of the one point eight meter Victoria. As he had in early Septembris Ev faced a larger, physically superior opponent without a hint of trepidation.

They were both furious, breathing heavily.
This shit is still going on?
Back in the residential area of Startseite, Doug and Furia walked along the sidewalk, wandering aimlessly around her neighborhood, trailing out of an argument.
"I'm afraid you have it all wrong, Furia."

She peered at Doug, eyes challenging. "Yeah, and how's that?"

"Farah and I get along because of our shared interest. But that doesn't mean I'm attracted to her, or that we're even compatible. Would you call Isis a person of faith and honor?" Doug gestured calmly, a hand unfolding as if literally revealing a secret about Isis.

Furia smirked. "Hell no. She's always got her little plans and doesn't believe in anything, except for Julius." Doug threaded his arm through hers, clenched firmly once again in her left jacket pocket.

"Exactly. They complete each other, Furia. The right amount of conflict is essential to any lasting relationship. Too much and it flares out, as with Charles and Faith. Too little and it never truly sparks into life to begin with, as I fear Mr. Tull is finding out."

Furia clenched the locket snugged away in her leather jacket. "So, you're saying you like me 'cause I'm not like you at all?"
"Furia, you have many qualities I'd like to claim: you're passionate, compelling and a very good fighter." Doug patted her arm at this. "But where I am more... traditional in etiquette and grammar, you simply speak your mind and nothing more. Where I restrain myself, you hold nothing back. Where I try to think of everything, you simply take the most direct, efficient course. I find it... refreshing."

Furia laughed, then laid her head on Doug's shoulder.

"Were I braver man or less dependent on purpose, I'd proud to claim half the enthusiasm and intensity you show every day."

"Stop it." Furia craned her head up off his shoulder. "You're making me sound like I'm perfect." Doug pulled it gently back down, then rested his head lightly on hers.

"Of course not Furia, no one is perfect.” Doug smiled and slipped his arm down over her hip. "You're simply perfect for me."

The hand finally came out of her pocket and wrapped around his waist.

"Fucker." They walked for a moment longer, then Furia stopped him. “Maybe we should help out Johor.”
Its more or less a shuffling corpse at this point.
The following monday Janus sat at the bleachers, trying to focus on his Warp Studies.

He had no idea why he'd chosen the topic 'Etheriophysical Confluential Phenomena as Alternate Reference Points' for his Autumn report.

Somehow the thought that more stable warp phenomena–the Perfidian Gap, Celtor's Flux and the Storms of Judgement–could be used to triangulate position in the Immaterium was stuck in his head. Once Janus started to put it to slate, though, the exact methodology seemed to get more and more complex.

And way beyond me.

Of course, his choice of study location might have something to do with it. Another loud grunt sounded as Remilia blasted the plasfilm soccerball into the goal yet again. Janus once more lost track of his work, watching her toned legs pump up and down as she kept up her pace, waiting for the two girls at the goal to return the ball. I just don't have enough time for this.

Remilia caught the ball easily, stopping it with one foot, then kicked it up, playing with it while the dual goalies tried to guess her next move. She paused a moment and flicked her hair, the wintery brown rippling with a hint of blonde. Janus caught sight of her freckles and missed the kick that shot past the twin goalies yet again, nearly knocking the goal out of place as it rebounded off a sidebar into the net.
Yep. He blushed as Remilia lifted up her shirt, revealing her tight midriff and just a hint of sports bra, and dabbed away the sweat glistening on her face. The problem here is time, Janus. She caught the ball yet again, tossing it up with a foot, dropping it to a shoulder, then to her chest. Janus blushed again, and the ball fell away before popping back up off her right knee. She bent over at the waist, forming a perfect right angle, and caught it on the back of her neck, laughing.

Yep. Janus flushed yet deeper as he looked at Remilia, and began to wonder if he had some kind of mutation predisposing him towards blondes. She took her time in the pose, tension slowly building as both the goalies and Janus watched and waited. Time.

In a sudden, lightning-fast movement, she levered up, tossing the ball high, then rolled laterally over and fell back to the ground. The bridge of her foot met the ball halfway through, and it arced into the net once again. Remilia simply laid there after the kick, sweaty and gasping, clothes settling onto her athletic frame, and Janus reddened further still. Time. Is. The problem. A hint of brown appeared as Remilia looked up, somehow sensing his attentive gaze. Janus redefined the terms 'rosy cheeks' and 'hastily' as he obviously returned to his slate.

Yeah, time is... oh, crap, time is the problem! Janus began to scribble out notes as fast as he could. We can't triangulate off of time signatures or arcuseconds because the warp distorts time, but if we establish high-intensity wide-band broadcast points at each etherspatial confluence...

He became more and more engrossed in his notes, pausing only to watch Remilia skip away with the goalies, hair swaying with hints of gold, shimmer shorts bouncing. It wasn't until she finally disappeared from view that Janus could finish outlining his report.

Yep, just needed time, Janus. He smiled.
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Be right back after a short break.
Arbitrator-Detective Idiam Thar entered his shabby apartment after yet another frustrating day. He wasn't entirely sure if it was luck, guile or internal corruption, but he hadn't been able to find much as far as slide dealers, and the investigation into possible cultist involvement wasn't doing any better. Barring the word that kid, Doug, had thrown him about House Edict, he'd had almost nothing.

The few they seemed to catch were always poor, low and mostly fresh in the organization. If anything, I'd guess someone was feeding us just enough information to keep us happy. The thought didn't sit well with the detective, and he closed the door heavily.

Silence began to settle into the small apartment, and for a moment Idiam felt lonely, felt the isolation from his old neighborhood. He still lived within ten minutes of the street, and even now made sure to hit it at least three times a day on patrol. Not having family in immediate reach was a barrier nonetheless.

Thankfully, something distracted him. He heard noise, sounds, movements, the shuffling of arms and feet, the clanking of metal. Coming from the kitchen.
As an Arbites, Thar had access to better housing than most, but the large five room apartment only seemed to enhance his isolation. Still, the presence of an intruder almost comforted Idiam, and he brought his stubpistol out. The weapon was checked, rounds in place, and he stole a quick glance at the door's lock. It didn't look picked or forced, no scrapes or marks on the door or frame.

Idiam began to gently creep forward, having long ago located the bracing under his thin floor, and walked accordingly. Only the gentle brush of his boots sinking into carpet issued forth, all but drowned out by the strange sounds coming from the kitchen.

A low swishing could be heard now, almost constant behind the other, louder noises, and a shadow could be seen, cast by a figure moving in the center of the room. A smell came now, and it confused Idiam. It was strong, rich and spicy. When the voice came he barely suppressed the urge to let off a few shots.

“I do hope you'll clean up, Detective. Trudging about in the lower hives can be most unsanitary.”

Idiam sighed and let his gun droop, then slip back into its holster. “What are you doing here?” He looked around, as if expecting another intruder to appear from the woodwork.
“I had some questions to ask you, but I couldn't let my chile go to waste. Luckily a butcher I am acquainted with had some fine minced grox to go along with it, so it should be rather to your taste as well as mine.”

“What kind of questions?” Idiam retreated into the front room, taking some time to recuperate. He dropped his longcoat and slung the pistol on the coat rack, still within easy reach, after locking the door. Can't be too careful. He briefly considered throwing the boy out, but the smell of the food–better than any he'd eaten since last sunday, when he'd visited his devoutly catheric mother–and the memory of the kid pulling out his badge, lightning fast, put that idea on the back burner.

“I seem have reached a dead end as far as the slide trafficking investigation is concerned, very frustrating.” There was a light clank as the lid was set aside, then rustling, a plastic bag of some kind. Idiam started forward again, aiming for the small dining table in his ill-appointed kitchen.

“You're not the only one.” A pair of clinks rang out just before he crossed the threshold, and the detective saw two neat white bowls welcome a ladle each of the red stew. Smaller containers sat to the side, one full of ground crackers from a nondescript plastic bag, another containing shaved cheese and the third a heap of irregular white peels, smelling strongly of something bitter and vaguely sulfurous.
“I feared as much. Perhaps by comparing notes we can help each other.” The steaming bowls of chili, Idiam remembered–something his grandfather used to make–were placed on the table, and the other three followed. He began to dip his spoon in.

“Please.” The word sounded apologetic, but came out with the force of a command. Idiam paused a moment, long enough for cheese, onions and cracker to be spread over his chili, then to see Doug to the same to his own bowl. The concoction was folded several times, then mixed evenly before he tidily lifted the spoon and took his first bite.

Idiam followed suit, and grunted his approval before mixing his own bowl. After a few minutes another pair of fresh bowls were set down, and Idiam dressed his himself, going heavy on the onions. The second round began to disappear more slowly, and Idiam found himself wiping away bits of red around his mouth and on his shirt.

“I suppose I should start.” Doug leaned back, taking the time to dab at the corners of his mouth, then let out a small cough. “You are, of course, already aware of Winhus and Garlan's activities, and the scavvie gang working under Klotch's orders.” Idiam nodded, downed another spoonful, then took a sip of water. There was some spice to the stew, causing his mouth and throat to tingle.

“What I haven't revealed is that Klotch was not the leader of his branch of the operation, he was merely a puppet. I had hoped to locate and deal with the... ah, person who was, but have fallen short of my goal.”
“Shouldn't've held back information, Hanlon.” Idiam shook his head, then took another spoonful. “If you'd let us know what to look for, instead of trying to do it yourself, we could've found this guy a long time ago.”

Doug smiled genially. “To be honest, Detective, I was more worried about your safety than anything.” Idiam raised an eyebrow and dropped the spoon as Doug continued. “The encounter I had with the woman was alarming. To tell the truth, I and my back-up barely made it out alive.”

“Woman?” Idiam's other eyebrow went up, changing his expression from disbelief to surprise.

“An ogryn, I believe, named Pelagia. Heavily mutated, and assuredly bearing a number of implants. She was fast, almost as fast as me, and took all the firepower we had without flinching.” Doug gesture at Idiam's stubpistol, then again at the supply closet.

The detective's eyebrows went a little higher. My personal shotgun.

“Yes, a Vox-Legi. It would've been most useful during my confrontation with the woman. Our small caliber rounds were woefully insufficient. Even with an AT-600 longstubber we barely managed to drive her off.”

“Where'd you even get an AT-600? Those aren't legal for anything in Sol.” Thar frowned.

Doug smiled and he waved the question off. “Regardless, you can see the predicament we were in. We found and eliminated another branch of the trade, run by House Edict in block #99. Unfortunately, another House swept in within the week, and there was only a slight delay in their operations.”

“How'd you find them?”
“A short observation of the block #99 cluster of spontaneous combustion deaths revealed them.” Doug leaned forward, a shadow passing over his face. “As well, there were a number of slide overdoses in the area, many young children. What few I could find any work on were confirmed to be uncut slide.”

Idiam sat back himself, spoon clattering in the empty bowl. He finally brought his own napkin up, a single rough pass scouring away what remained of the meal. “I was afraid of that. People are dying in strange ways, an ogryn woman... I've never even seen one before. Are you sure she was a woman?”

Doug nodded gravely, his eyes briefly fluttering closed as his face assumed a grimace, before his expression changed back to amiable and bland once more.

“Well... and you said another House moved in, do you know which one?”

“Calef. It appears they had divided up the territory by mutual agreement.”

“An ogryn woman working with scavengers, dealers handing out uncut slide without telling the buyer, spontaneous combustion, Houses working together... This doesn't sound like a slide trafficking organization to me, Hanlon.” Idiam's face darkened and his voice dropped so low it would barely carry past the table. “This sounds like Chaos.”

“Do you think so?” Doug's eyes widened momentarily, then his faced turned neutral again. “Why, and how?”
“I spoke with... someone higher up.” Idiam let the words stand for a moment, unwilling to let out any specifics, but the message got through.

“I had a case in #113, the night before you showed up. Found cultists dead, no marks or signs, nothing blasphemous. But I could feel it in the air, a stink. I don't know if they had a disagreement with the dealers, but it looks to me like the cults are behind these strange deaths, and the Houses are trying to cut them down before they draw attention.”

The word was left to hang in the air, but Doug knew even better than Thar what would happen if the Indigatus, seekers of daemons, heretics and hostile xenos, were brought into the picture.

Doug nodded, warming to the Chaos/Slide War idea. “Whoever's organizing this is doubtless well-placed in the Adeptus Terra, and will know they're coming. The trade will be disrupted, and nascent Chaos cults destroyed, but within months I fear we'd be right back where we started, only this time without the cultists disrupting things and leaving clues.” He leaned back, eyes lidding heavily with thought, until he seemed to be sleeping.

“Something else?”
Doug sighed. “I suppose we should continue to exchange information. When we raided House Edict, they were prepared for us. Fortunately we had a secret weapon that handled the situation admirably. But it seems they're somehow gaining knowledge of our actions. Do you think....?”

Idiam paused as he tried to grasp the implications. “The cults and the Houses are allying now? But how could they work sorcery without being found out somehow?”

“There are daemons capable of deceiving even those most perceptive among us. And if such a force is at work here...” Doug paused, his eyes flicking back and forth frantically. “Where do you think the cultists were established before they allied with the Houses?”

Thar sat back, a hand stroking his chin, then his gray eyes flicked up. “There's not much down here, besides Slide and soylens... if they're-” His eyes widened.

“Soylens! Everyone in the block works there, and there's no one in the hive more susceptible to false promises than soylens laborers. They only make enough to live in the district around the plant. I think one of the dead cultists was a worker there.”

“Yes, the first strange deaths we found were clustered around there, and the depressing conditions would certainly foment this type of activity. Perhaps it is time we paid a visit to Soylens Processing Facility #113, Detective. I'm afraid I must be off for now, but I will be in touch. And see if you can't find the name of that worker.”
"I am worried about possible defects in the casting." Doug gestured at the seemingly massive engine the next day in Farah's garage. Although a far cry from what powered Gorechild, the old musclecar was no battle bike and the engine pushed the limits of what the bay could hold.

"I don't have an MPI." Farah scratched the back of her head, bandana rustling. "Although..." She squinted, her eyes becoming slits of green.

"Please, Ms. Manus, I'm sure we can find another way to deal with the issue."

A small look of disappointment came over Farah's friendly features, but was quickly replaced by the spark of another challenge in her eyes. A voiced carried easily across the room, pulling Doug's attention away from Farah.

"Yeah, and?" Furia took another drag off the lho-stick.
Doug knew she was still a little uncomfortable with the idea of leaving him with Farah. Last week she'd left when it became obvious Farah didn't need her help, intending to pick up some food. She'd been stuck waiting during rush hour for the large order.

The interminable wait led to an impromptu nap, and then... worse. He remembered the conversation they had as they walked away from Farah's.

"Furia, eventually I will need to interact with other women." She looked at him sidelong, eye skeptical. Doug
chortled nervously. "Please, Furia, you know I meant 'conversation.'" He turned and faced her earnestly. "I am
not asking you to trust them Furia, simply to trust me."

Johor's aria twisted darkly, mirroring his dermatoglyphs and shaking Doug out of his thoughts. Except Farah, all present understood the Interex was not truly angry about the topic he was discussing with Furia, but rather what he, too, had walked in on the previous week.

"The strings are too clashing, Furia, and the mistreatment of human vocal chords..." He shuddered.

She just smiled. "That's exactly why I like it, Johor." She said it Joe-er, and he flinched again. "Better than that soft, sappy crap you see advertised on the holoplayers at the tech store."
Furia leaned backwards, the back of her hand resting delicately on her forehead. Her voice assumed a high, sickeningly sweet tone, "Oh! Look at me! I have boobs-" The other hand raked indecently over her out-thrust chest, causing Johor to blush, "-and daddy issues! Buy my records!"

She returned to her normal posture, grinning and taking another drag. A cloud of smoke drifted over Johor. "That shit pisses me off." Her eyes gleamed. "Hey, Doug, you think maybe Victoria's got a future in pop music?"

Johor began to smile at this, having encountered Victoria. The aria's tones turned light.

Doug laughed as well. "She has the attitude for it. Though I doubt Victoria could be bothered to put on underwear long enough to perform." Furia's evil grin turned into a snort and Farah took off into the house, muttering something to herself.

"Far-" She blitzed right by Johor, only mumbling a short acknowledgement of his presence before vanishing. The aria slowed, turning despondent.

"Johor?" Doug turned and faced the tall, courtly-featured boy. "Perhaps you can help Ms. Manus and me?"

Johor's aria briefly became turbulent, then a driving march as he decided the matter, striding forward. He stopped a few feet away, eye to eye with the baseline human, who bent at the waist, hands clasped behind his back. Doug inspected the device strapped to Johor's chest, head turning here and there.

"Johor, could you explain to me how the meturge you wear functions?"
The aria blared out in response to Johor's surprise. Most humans had trouble separating the concept of the aria from the instrument that produced it, the meturge. High, sparse tones began to echo out as Johor thought, each an arithmetic reflection of the underlying neurophysical thought process, wrought by fingers long trained to react to his thoughts and feelings reflexively.

"Each key is coded to specific mode or tone, combining to represent a certain concept, an emotion or idea. They were developed to play the aria, which we created to help us overcome the language barrier with our allies, the Kinebrach."

Doug nodded, and Johor continued with enthusiasm. "The idea was to fill in the gaps of communication, the limits of not just language, but also of physical expression, smell and vocalization." The sparse tones grew more insistent, more frequent as Johor's thoughts coalesced into the explanation he sought.

Doug turned to Johor's ears, leaning side to side and inspecting each, "And your ears? I presume they're enhanced to take full advantage of your people's exceptional hearing?"

Johor nodded, the aria brightening in pride. "Yeah. We can hear with the same precision you... uh, as Imperial humans see." The aria rushed just slightly, as if one batch of thoughts were catching up with rest. "Provided it's quiet enough." Johor grimaced as he thought back to his first day, of accidentally knocking down Isis Lupercal.
"Extraordinary. Tell me, Johor, can the meturge produce sounds at ultrasonic frequencies?" Doug smiled. "Actually, I believe you demonstrated that quite well some weeks ago."

The aria began playing repetitive pairs of notes, the phrase slowly ascending in a sharp laugh. Johor smiled and Doug pulled out his earplugs, which disappeared into his jacket. The hand reappeared with another, more substantial pair.

"Excellent. Johor, I believe a frequency of twenty kilohertz, considerable amplitude and-" He looked at Furia.
"-relative quiet, should allow you to pick up defects in the block's structure, if you would. You may need to adjust the frequency slightly to reach the metal's fatigue resonance."

Johor nodded, remembering the days on Xenobia of breaking glass, cracking rocks and shaking small household items for fun and mischief. Furia walked up, interested in seeing if the aria had a real use besides broadcasting love for Farah and knocking Victoria on her ass.
That's more than enough. Her cruel grin returned as Doug offered earplugs, but Furia declined them silently.

Johor keyed up the proper tones, blending and merging into a clean, high peal at the high edge of human hearing. He leaned forward and closed his eyes, steadily increasing the amplitude, the sound growing louder.

He began to listen in earnest, hearing the faintest echoing ring return from the main body of the engine. Doug stepped away and returned with a high-resolution auspex. He activated the instrument and calibrated it to passive infrared against his hand, then tested it on Furia.

What- is- that? Furia didn't speak, instead mouthing the words with exaggerated movements.
Why, my dear Furia, it is an excuse for me to watch your lips move. Doug smiled, then took a lho-stick to the face. Furia sidled over, retrieving the smoke, and he showed her his hand, then the floor, then her hand through the auspex. She nodded and Doug began to dial it in, scanning through layers of source matter.

The sound increased again and Furia started to dig through Doug's coat, looking for a set of earplugs. She pulled out cheek inserts, a set of lockpicks, several flashlights, a wad of plastic bags and a pair of tweezers.

What the fuck, Doug? He merely smiled and produced the earplugs once more, without looking.

"Hey guys, what's up?" Doug nodded to Farah, placing a finger to his lips, then pointed at Johor. The ringing was now audible to everyone in the room. A small tremor set into the engine, and Doug focused the auspex onto the block itself. The precise display showed many short, thick curls and larger dots, speckled throughout the ironcas. Johor nodded, satisfied at this frequency, and altered it again.

Doug dialed out the display, making a general sweep of the block, layer by layer, centimeter by centimeter, until he had seen it all twice. There were no disturbances larger than a quarter of a millimeter in the magnesium laced structure. The engine began to shake, creating an awful clangor, and Johor ceased playing. The abrupt silence carried an acoustic weight all its own.

"Wow! That was awesome Johor, I didn't know you could do that with the aria. We could've been looking at stuff the whole time like that, why didn't you-" Johor simply smiled as Farah barraged him with questions and ideas, the aria chiming along happily.

Furia took Doug's hand and they left, walking back to her house once more in each other's embrace.
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Alright, that's it for tonight. Almost at the end.
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Awww its over!?

This is my favorite WHH story by far, keep up the good work OP!

People are you are the cancer that is killing /tg/.

It's over because the OP realised /tg/ hates WHH shit.

This is freaky-awesome. Thank you.
Clearly not everyone hates this stuff, I for one think it's a huge step up from that weird shit Someone Else was putting out.

Weird shit?


Clearly you are a fag.

And i note that nobody has replied to the last post someone made about SE, either.
Why won't this die?

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