| Absentis es Omega | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 9 2011, 02:59 PM (776 Views) | |
| Inferni | Jun 9 2011, 02:59 PM Post #1 |
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Social class on a Hive World revolves entirely around your altitude. The higher up you go, the more people you look down on, and quite literally stand above. More importantly, due to the heavy pollution that inevitably claims worlds where human lives vastly outnumber what the planet alone can sustain, the cleaner air is always going to be higher up as trash and wastefalls drain downward and smother the bottom. Omega was no different in this regard. However, unlike many hive worlds where each city-spire represents a distinct culture, the planet had been overrun by the critical mass of human lives which forces the titanic urban meshes to expand to the point where they have merged into a single entity. With such borders absent, one could travel half the globe of the lower hives, and they’d see little change among the countless poverty-stricken habs and metal corridors that wound above and below the planet’s crust. In fact, one could barely even tell what was above and below ground level anymore, as countless billions had never even seen their own sky or sun. Staring out from the glass canopy that surrounded the chute station up near the top of one of the lower spires, Nero Calistrum looked out across the enormous metal labyrinth that spiraled down below like an iron mountain, dropping into the thin, green-grey miasma kilometers below and dip up and down in hills all the way to the horizon. Not sparing a glance to the sun or sky, the interrogator spun around on the spot and started walking towards the array of glass pillars in the middle of the vast chamber. Chute stations were a practical necessity in hive spires, serving the same purpose a groundcar or tram might on imperial worlds. However, their purpose relied in vertical transportation, using pressurized air to fire capsules full of civilians up or down for miles as their business required. Of course, most chutes were limited in the distance they would travel, with stations further out from the center only going so far up before hitting the top level. The largest ones, like those that passed through this station, required a living clearance or permission pass to go up to the higher levels, so as to keep vagrants and undesirables from migrating up to the realm of the upper class. Flashing his recently-acquired residence pass to a registration servitor, Nero paused in the reflection of one of the chute tubes. Loosening up the leather jacket that served as icing to his rugged and worn appearance, he parted his black hair in its cheap bowl haircut before moving again for one of the open capsules marked “Lower Hive” in gaudy gold filigree. Tapping the commbead in his ear, the interrogator started talking in a hushed tone. “This is Nero. We’re about to exit secure vox range and en route to target. Meeting up with Hollace after disembarking as planned.” “Confirmed,” answered a wintry voice on the other end. “We’ll be mining the reports and data traffic in the meanwhile.” “Understood, Valence.” Returned Nero, as his master cut the link. Stepping aboard the empty capsule (not surprising since the rich would rarely if ever have reason to travel to the sumps), the throne agent spared one last glance at Omega’s sun before the velvet-lined door locked into place and he was shot down like a bullet of a gun chamber into the metal-lined bowels of the planet. |
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| Matron | Jun 10 2011, 07:01 PM Post #2 |
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The chamber, for being so grandiose and lavish, seemed oddly stuffy at the moment. Its high ceilings and ornate window sills that sung of Omega's untold riches and praised the glory of the God Emperor and asked him to impart some of his unfathomable knowledge and foresight to guide the planet into an age of tranqulity and peace seemed oddly gray at the moment. The chamber was circular and held benches that faced a elevated platform that council members and scribes and other dignitaries took when addressing the council. Yet even the spectacle of Omega's governmental body did not seem so awe-inspiring at the moment. Perhaps its the fact that today's meeting is utterly pointless, Council Member Doran Meredicus thought to himself as he sat, in the traditional heavy purple robes of Omega's old landed gentry. Ever since his uncle had placed him as Council Member in Omega's Enforcement of Greater Peace and Prosperity Committee for the Betterment of The People or rather, as he had been told to say, awarded by the God Emperor and the People of Omega, he had sat through innumerable useless meetings. However, as uncle had said, it was the only way to break into Omega's political climate. Throne he wished he could simply skip these frakking preliminary steps and be awarded head of the PDF or some other such title. "What have you say my Lords?" Doran snapped back into reality and raised his hand quickly. It seemed they had just voted to leave whatever nonsense the lower hivers had brought to the council's attention for another day. Another day of boredom no doubt. The old man at the platform with slicked hair and a trimmed white beard, Advisory Lord Garlan Beckven, continued on to the next item on the council's agenda. "As ordained by The Percep's Law of 231.41 we are now to read the statistics of Omega's disappearances since last quarter." A servitor seemed to spring from the shadows and gave the Lord a long sheet and disappeared back into the crevasses of the chamber. "It seems that since last month we lost record numbers. If now you will permit me to begin reading off the last whereabouts and the local arbites control of the area......" Doran tuned out the old man. How he abhorred this part of the month. It seemed that centuries ago some humanitarian councilman decided it best to create a ridiculous committee to oversee Omega's disappearances and try to lessen them. As for some reason that should concern the upper hive when there are gangers and smugglers to worry about. If Doran ever learned the name of that councilman's fam- "Oddly enough, this area has lost three of these loner types, I believe the local arbites put it. Men and woman who kept to themselves mostly and seemed to be fit, as one man put it, "For the life of a Servitor." The arbites has of course been instructed, as per Councilman Gente's orders to......" Doran sprung from his sprawled position in his seat. the Councilmen near him looked at him oddly and returned to the task at hand. His ears perked up. His uncle had been very persistent about the only reason he had given Doran the council job. Apparently his new interest was the disappearances of prime targets for servitor use. Doran had no idea why he cared nor did he actually care. If it served Albertz it served the family and if it served the family it served him. He quickly wrote down the area of the hive. Now he'd wait for this meeting to be over. Uncle will be so pleased. |
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| Inferni | Jun 10 2011, 09:46 PM Post #3 |
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Speeding to a stop almost ten kilometers downward at a speed that would snap a man's neck were it not for the mysteries of the Omnissiah, Nero prowled out of his capsule and immediately merged with a trampling crowd as if it were water. "Hollace, I'm at ground level, where are you?" he voxed on their personal channel. Static. He repeated the message and got the same thing. Fantastic. The savant had probably seen a history museum or somesuch and completely forgot his train of thought. Well, nothing for it. He'd just have to run this assignment on his own. But not before a little nostalgia. Enjoying the claustrophilia of the sea of bodies he was constantly pressed into, the Interrogator enjoyed the rusty sights around him as he made his way to the Arbites district. Grabbing a hot grox bun and a recaff on the way, he savoured the cheap food of his youth before arriving at the Sector D79 Arbitrator Department. Slipping inside, he walked up to the front desk where a pair of servitors appeared to be shuffling scrolls almost randomly. "I have an appointment with Deputy Magistratum Sigils," Calistrum said, one of the two drones facing him with a meshgrille for a face as it accessed a memory bank. "Room 11, Level 3," it intoned flatly before continuing to rearrange piles of parchment. Turning to take the stairs, Nero strolled upward two flights and through a subdepartment of scurrying scribes before slipping into a sideroom, closing the door behind him. Sigils' office was worn, like the old man sitting behind the cogitator himself. A bronze name plate, more green than metallic, read off "Tyfelan Sigils". Aside from the green glow of the monitor facing the Magistratum, the only other light in the room was from a small electrolamp by the window, which gave an acceptable view of a sludge-filled pond outside, a small effigy of Him on Earth mounted with bad taste so it seemed the God Emperor was crying black tears. Stading up, which was easier said than done as one of the Arbitrator's legs appeared to be a poor-quality augmentic, "You're Aranor Valence?" he asked, his voice a bit raspy from too many Iho-sticks, "What is this about, anyway?" "In order; No I am not, but he will be joining us shortly." To answer the second question, he fished his Inquisitorial rosette and set it on the desk, saying nothing. Sigils' expression gave a fleeting impression of shock, before settling into understanding, as if a cold case had just been cracked. Waving a scanner wand over the seal of office, he inspected the readout before returning it to a desk drawer. "Alright. I assume you're here about the reports the Officio Inquisitoras Planetia requested last week. We sent everything we had on it, though, so I'm not sure I understand-" "Inquisitor Valence believes you, Magistratum," interrupted Nero, his hand settling on something else in his jacket. "This interview is just to make sure we have all the information we need." "Very well," Sigils responded, a bead of sweat forming on his brow as he suddenly feared being a loose end. "How long before the Inquisitor will be joining us, then?" "Immediately," Nero answered, producing a small holo-emitter and placing it too on the desk as he muttered the rite of activation and pressed the appropriate rune. There was a bright flicker of green from within the device, a holographic form springing to life in the office space. A man resolved in the 3D image, thin-shouldered and wearing a cream-coloured greatcoat. Resting a gloved hand on an ivory cane, he had undoubtable age, though how much greater than the average man due to juvenat treatments remained uncertain. A cowl of white hair tinted green by the hologram drifted down the right side of his face, an adamantine plate fixed in a balding patch over his left. Ice-blue eyes gazed sharply from sunken sockets, framed by snowy brows and skin pulled taut across the bulge of wires and augments lacing the skull under his skin. "Deputy Magistratum Sigils," said Aranor Valence, "Good afternoon. It goes without saying that this conversation will never leave this office..." |
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| CaliforniaTD | Jun 14 2011, 03:20 PM Post #4 |
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The tip the gloved finger made contact with the edge of his tongue, the taste of the special dark azure ink stimulating his senses once again. The servitor before him tackled papyrus and writing sheets as it was processing the Inquisitor badge number the savant recited from memory; a single drizzle of rain compared to the highly organized storms of thinking his mind was capable of and engineered for as such. "Room 11, Level 3." Was the servitor's disquieting planar reply. "Advisory: Meeting already in progress." "This would not be the anterior time I was tardy." The gaunt administratum agent propounded as he diligently made his way toward the staircase in the office pocket. His mind calibrated his pace, set with the exact time he was going to arrive at the office. Mathematical sticklers and other such exercises were what he thrived for. He counted forty paces and occasionally measured and corrected distance and the numerical order Hollace was a savant, his skinniness hidden behind orange robes decorated with pocketed and strapped scrolls around a tertian of a cubit in wrapped length. His face seemed to be carved from the likeness of some poet or writer, as he was clean shaven, the coloration of his skinny lips stained with half a dozen shades of ink, eyes without iris, merely just the whites and pupils. Most telling of all was his abnormally large uni-brow, thick as a ring finger and nettlesome as a handmaiden's pubic hair. Holes were hacked in his head to outfit analogues, sockets and dynamos to significantly embroider his thinking. He was essentially a meat calculator, a thinking machine that bled, sweat, spoke and drew breath. Savants were invaluable to the countless cells of Imperial agencies, the Inquisition moreso than perhaps any other. His paces were somewhat correct from the beginning, as he had to pass a servitor and guard or two, impeding the success of his earliest equation. He entered Room 11, his body encased in the heavy wintergreen glow. "A thousand apologies for my usual tardiness, Interrogator." He clasped his hands together and titled his head forth, doing the same to the heritor of the office, as well as the hologram. "Inquisitor... Deputy Magistrum." After the greetings he withdrew his agency seal and placed it on the table for the man to scan. For now they would discuss their business, and in the meantime he would keep his mouth shut until they required his consul. In the meantime, he would count the ripples in the pool, dividing them and multiplying them in fractions to keep himself busy. His ears would still be open, listening for a cue or a pressing statement. |
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| Pigglesbie | Jun 14 2011, 09:03 PM Post #5 |
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Aster woke to the touch of his escort-leader. "We're landing in five, Lord-Captain." The young rogue trader had opted to dock separately from the Inquisitor's retinue, in accordance with Valence's wishes and his own personal desire to oversee matters aboard the Narcissus before going planetside. He stifled a yawn and snatched up a cup of dark and deeply-scented recaf from a nearby dispenser. Blinking away the last traces of sleep from his steel blue-grey eyes as the potent stimulant took effect, he slid unceremoniously off his lounger and moved towards the on-suite basin. As he washed his unmarked face, he replayed the audio contents of a data slate. "Omega: Population, approximately three-fifty bil-" Aster fast-forwarded through the recording, a string of informatory clips compiled by his seneschal several days prior to their arrival at the Hive World. "-Meredicus trade settlement..." Rinsed, clean-shaven and paying the dry voice of his chief of information half an ear, he donned several of the mandatory fineries befitting his rank. "...pattern of Omega-assignment disappearances..." When the voice faded, he tossed the slate to the floor and crushed it beneath his heel, letting fly a small shower of sparks and glass. The explorer entered the shuttle's flight deck, a heavy green overcoat burdening his otherwise lean shoulders with arrays of decorative plates and embroideries. Slung around his waist he wore the long and ornate scabbard of a power sword, from which protruded a mordian-pattern mechanized hilt, and a holstered plasma pistol. While the sheath was for show, to awe and deter, the gun wasn't, and Aster was more than a capable shot. "Make contact with Valence the moment we land." Subausterus Ledger, escort-leader, took the command silently with a nod. "We're pulling into the landing site; I'll assemble the guard." Alone with the pilot, Aster beheld the sombre carapace of the hive-complex as the shuttle was engulfed by the hangar. As the landing thrusters engaged to bring the craft down unwaveringly, his cadre of five arrayed themselves alongside the shuttle doors. All were outfitted with heavy plasma weapons and power armours of the staggeringly onerous make that Aster could never bring himself to endure. He turned to face Ledger, who spoke, looking away from a comms-unit, "The Inquisitor's private channel is engaged, Lord-Captain." His master and commander appeared to think it over for a moment before fastening his xeno-skin cloak and replying, "Open the doors." |
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| Inferni | Jun 14 2011, 11:23 PM Post #6 |
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The Inquisitor's projection nodded as his savant entered. "Not unexpected. We were just finishing up, anyway. It seems there might-" he paused, consulting someone outside the viewing range of the emitter. Then: "Pardon me, gentlemen, but a business associate of mine just touched down and is calling in. Nero will have to brief you, Hollace." The link was cut, and the interrogator snatched the emitter back up along with his rosette. "As Valence was saying;" he continued off where their master had abruptly ended, "there may be a link we can find by examining one of the last known locations of one of our suspects. Apparently the Deputy Magistratum's men were unable to locate any substantial evidence," here he nodded to Sigils, who wore a sour expression, "but there was an area in a nearby warehouse district that showed signs of battle, and also at the same time two arbitrators in the vicinity likewise disappeared. I'm going to go check the scene to make sure nothing was missed, you want to accompany me?" "Propitiously," replied the savant, continuing to stare at the polluted pool. "Excellent," the interrogator turned and nodded to Sigils, "the Inquisition thanks you for your cooperation in this matter." The pair slipped back out into the labyrinth-hive, leaving the relic of a man to stare at the door as it closed behind them. It would be several minutes before he remembered to sit back down. Edited by Inferni, Jun 20 2011, 07:12 PM.
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| CaliforniaTD | Jun 20 2011, 07:33 PM Post #7 |
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Hollace did not dare stop to count footsteps of both he and his interrogator and solicit the numbers to a variety of mathematical equations and problems. "Observing the authenticity of the interrogator's parturition upon the spires of a hive world much like what lies beneath our feet presently, I calculate there is an 89.32 percent likelihood you familiar with conducting investigative techniques inside a cloistered area or would his holiness desire a verbal tutorial?" His gloved finger rubbed the corner of his mouth as his eyelids began to blink open and closed like the wings of a hummingbird before stopping after two seconds. |
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| Inferni | Jun 20 2011, 07:48 PM Post #8 |
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"I'm confident I'll get by without instructions, Hollace," the Interrogator replied, brushing a gaggle of joygirls in a narrow corridor as they passed and who giggled and winked back. "I am counting on your analysis, however, to hopefully catch something the local law didn't. This is about the extent of our leads right now, at least until more people go missing in a notable fashion."
Edited by Inferni, Jun 20 2011, 07:48 PM.
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| Matron | Jun 23 2011, 02:00 AM Post #9 |
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Garth leaned against the building, his finger picking at whatever meat was left in between his teeth. He wondered if it was rat, it sure tasted like rat, not grox. Though neither was particularly tasty. The long, lanky ganger with more piercings than anyone needed and a long topknot that ended in stringy dreadlocks, looked across the derelict buildings to the Arbites office. He was shirtless, showing off more than his share of tattoos, the biggest one being a nasty dog's head in the middle of his chest. At his side was a fair share of blades and other potent instruments. A long scar ran up and down his face in a zigzag. An old wound from a nasty knife fight. He, and really his whole gang, had been hired by some soft upworlder to follow a certain pair of arrivals to Omega. All they had received was there destination and the simple job of examining what they did. The minute he was noticed or they found some place other than the arbites department all Garth had to do was simply use the vox he was given and whatever 'agent' their employer had procured for his intentions with the pair would show himself. or itself. As far as Garth was concerned, he didn't really care what happened. All he new was that his gang was receiving a hefty payment in all sorts of weapons, his employer even promising a missile launcher upon perfect execution of his objective. But the whole bundle was just as good. Anything to get the upper hand in The Dead Dog's newest fight with the Serpentine Sixes. Just as he was about to order up some more of the mystery meat from one of the five thugs around him he saw them. He chuckled to himself, they stuck out like sore thumbs in the lower hive. Maybe he could kill one, make an example outta him. His employer never said anything about not hurting them. Just as they turned a corner, Garth threw what was left of his meal on the floor and motioned with his head to his thugs. They all nodded. Garth cracked his neck as his men went forward. He smiled. This would be the easiest job The Dead Dog's had ever done. |
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| Inferni | Jun 23 2011, 01:17 PM Post #10 |
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It took only about an hour to reach the warehouse district. The gate leading in to the section they sought was covered in layers of red plastape, which had been partly hacked aside by looting gangs. Slipping inside, Nero and Hollace found themselves on a mostly flat bed of rockcrete which stretched about 30 to 40 metre in either direction before reaching reinforced doors on either side that led to the storehouses. Jersey barriers were set up in lanes, and piles of storage containers collected dust in small mountains as they remained untouched. Three towering cargo servitors squatted idle along the steel fence opposite the two. Casually strolling in, the Interrogator quickly noted the shards of loose rockcrete scattered near the middle of the lot. Several of the K-rails had been peppered by stray rounds, which, according to the reports, had come from compact stubbers commonly carried by Arbitrators. However, many gangers came by the same models illegally, so it wasn't a certain lead. On top of this, strangely, nothing had been left behind of the combatants involved; no prints, no microspores, no follicles, which only compounded to frustration at a lack of physical evidence. Brushing apart the rubble of a rockcrete barrier that appeared to have been mostly disintegrated, Calistrum huffed his displeasure. "I've got nothing. Any leads, Hollace?" The savant was sniffing around the rubble nearby. Literally. A short mechandrite was extended from the meat on his left arm, a small, brush-like instrument on the end. "There is a 24.73% average increase in water vapor in this substructure as opposed to the common place percentage throughout this tier," he offered sincerely. "How helpful," the Interrogator muttered, inspecting a pile of crates. So far as he could tell, this looked like it wasn't going anywhere. But there was no way he'd go back to Valence with only a cursory examination, so the man resigned himself to the task and began snooping the bullet pocks and collecting samples of rock, his eyes scouring for what seemed a rising, extremely off-chance for a casing or clue the arbitrators had missed. Edited by Inferni, Jun 26 2011, 02:43 PM.
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