Finch V. A Return to the Underhive. Intro.

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Finch V. A Return to the Underhive. Intro.

Postby Squiggle » Sat Nov 25, 2017 6:50 pm

Short vignette inspired by the re-release of Necromunda. Should become something more.

‘Drink’?

More a reflexive rasp than a question, it issued forth from the far corner of the drinking hole I had just ducked into it. The door to the street – a hefty chunk of acid-scarred and rust-marked plasteel - slid gratingly shut behind me with a hiss of poorly maintained hydraulics and a dull clunk. The place was lit by cheap strip lighting and as my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I realised that the voice had come from a servitor hardwired into the wall behind the filthy strip of hammered steel that passed for a bar. I glanced around, clocked the handful of shadowy figures hunched over drinks or in quiet conversation and, seeing nothing threatening, crossed to the bar.

Only then did I get a good look at the servitor.

Its skull had been flensed down to bare bone, now stained with age and smoke. Heavy brass augmetic eyes – pitted and tarnished with age - glowered down at me. The nose and mouth were gone, replaced by a crackling vox unit, the speaker of which protruded obscenely from between a toothless lower jaw and the lower edges of its eye sockets. It had no ears, instead crude matt black audio-pickups had been screwed directly into its skull. Heavy, muscular shoulders ended in arms that were bereft of hands, instead plumbed with multiple brass spigots, bottle openers and other, less obvious attachments. One creaking bionic limb, marked with coolant leaks and Verdigris, ended in a dirty rag and as I approached, smeared grease around the metal bar with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Given the locale, I rather imagined that at least one of those arms that disappeared beneath the bar was attached to some heavy calibre weaponry. The servitor lacked pelvis or lower limbs, instead being crudely clamped to the wall behind the bar by thick, messily welded plasteel stanchions.

‘Drink?’ It repeated. I dragged a stool out and sat at the bar, propping myself up with feigned exhaustion.

‘Ale. Bottom rung.’ I said. The servitor’s skeletal head inclined quizzically to one-side, and then it produced an unlabelled brown bottle from beneath the bar with one of its many arms, clinked the top off with another attachment and neatly slid the bottle across the bar top to me.

I nodded my thanks, and took a sip of the brackish liquid. It was passable, but barely. I ran a hand through the crackling strands of my bionic hair, and took another look around the establishment. I’d been in similar places before – probably spent too much time in similar places before – and Cawkies on Forge Core Six Alpha was no different.

The servitor behind the bar was an unusual touch. Properly retrofitted servitors, blessed at creation by the Adeptus Mechanicus, were an expensive luxury not normally found this deep in the underhive. This one was either a relic of previous, better times, or a hatchet job by a local rogue Tech-Adept. I didn’t much care either way. I wasn’t in the Underhive of Hive Primus – Necromunda’s most auspicious hive – to track down rogue enginseers.

I took another sip of the ale. I didn’t know why I was in the underhive – the coded, priority-magenta astropathic communique from my current employer had not been so specific. Only that it was urgent. The message palmed to me by an unseen operative some three months ago as I queued with countless others awaiting transport by bulk-lifter down to Hive Primus from the orbital transit station had brought me – eventually - to this unlikely drinking hole. Now there was little to do but wait. I’d never met the agent responsible for sending me orders, and after what felt like a lifetime in the service of the Imperium, I was happy with this arrangement. It was simpler this way – when the missions found me, I carried them out. Between times, I was my own mistress – and the pay was more than sufficient to allow me to look after myself.

The street door ground open on its poorly lubricated runners.

‘Drink?’ The servitor rasped again.

I looked up from my warm ale at the cloaked figure standing on the threshold.

Perhaps it was time for some answers.
If my mind's the weapon, my heart's the extra clip

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Re: Finch V. A Return to the Underhive. Intro.

Postby theCrowe » Sat Dec 02, 2017 10:50 pm

Very nice intro. Hope you get stuck in and post some more soon.

I once tried a Necromunda story but it was also a style test. in the end the story was good but the style i was writing in really didn't help. I might have a go at rewriting it some day.
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Re: Finch V. A Return to the Underhive. Intro.

Postby Squiggle » Tue Dec 05, 2017 11:45 pm

Hi. Thanks for the comments. Yes there will definitely be more to follow. Should probably work on my space marine entry first though!
If my mind's the weapon, my heart's the extra clip

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