Jac "Baneblade" O'Bite
=I= Agent Redfoot
Redfoot sat quietly on the chair, long spindly fingers unconsciously playing with the claws of his giant ratskin cloak. He did that compulsively when he was nervous, he couldn’t help it. A small man, lithe with shifty eyes and long greasy black hair Redfoot was a Low Hiver, scum of the earth that had never seen the light of day. He also didn’t like clean rooms, especially not brightly light ones like this cell, it made him feel exposed, targeted. Redfoot hadn’t been in a room like this for a very very long time, not since he vaccinated by the Sisters back in ’48 against the blue box that had swept through the slums. That vaccine had made him vomit for a week but he’d survived unlike many others. Redfoot wasn’t sure what was going to happen this time though; he didn’t think he’d be leaving here with just an inoculation and a food card. The three men seemed to have appreciated his help in finding the woman they were after but it was hard to get a reading off them.
They had caught him trying to break into their transport after all, down in the slums he would have been beaten to within an inch of his life for trying to steal the big 6 wheeled rover but these men weren’t hivers. They scared him these men with their black transport and low voices, black clothes and combat masks. He’d only seen one of their faces so far, the thin one who accompanied him through the sewers, he’d a kindly yet slightly sad face thought Redfoot. The man was a a tracker like him apparently. He’d had been good too, not as good as Redfoot but then again who in the slums was? How they had caught him he still wasn’t sure about though. The thin man hadn’t answered his questions as they had crawled through the old oil pipes, blackened and stinking, he’d only prodded the would be thief further and further onwards. Regardless of who they were, they were good fighters, Redfoot had seen that all too well and a man could never know too many of those.
Outside in the dimly light hall, three shadows watched the lowborn scum through the one-way wall. Ignoring the dripping water from the ceiling and the low hum of generators they saw his nervous twitches, unkempt grab and the red and black war paint that covered half his face and saw so much more. But did they see enough to confirm their suspicions.
The shadow on the left, the one who had gone with Redfoot on the recce was smaller and thinner than the one of the far right whose hulking frame suggested augmentation or heavy armour. The centre figure, tall and proud backed seemed to draw in the light, devouring it like a black hole while the other two simply existed in the absence of light cast by the barely functioning glow globes above.
“He’s a nervous one, that’s for sure,” grunted the Hulk.
“Weren’t you?” replied One-on-the-left.
“The bastard threw a chair at me” chuckled the Blackhole.
“Heh that’s right, I did too” another chuckle, this time from the Hulk.
“A chair, really?” One-on-the-left sounded slightly bemused by this, “par for the course I suppose though”.
“Shut up, it was the only thing I had to hand and I thought he was going to kill me for seeing what I had.” The Hulk sounded almost bitter at this, as if the memories had come rushing back and swamped his mind.
“And do you wish I had?” Blackhole’s voice was low and soft this time, bereft of humour or light. Silence once more returned as the Hulk thought it over.
“Sometimes, but then I remember the end justifies the means” his voice was sadder now, the memories of the dead infecting it.
The air hung heavy in the hallway, stale and unmoving, the Blackhole broke the silence:
“So apart from being nervous in this situation, what do you think of him?”
“He’s an adequate enough shot with that double barrelled slugger of his although we would have to give him something a bit harder hitting. Maybe one of the halflings can work some their magic on it. I can’t imagine he’s a slouch when it gets up close and personal, this shithole of world doesn’t seem to be the kind of place where you can survive long unless you know how to handle a blade. He’s a good tracker, very good” mused One-on-the-left, head bobbing ever so slightly.
“Could he simply have been retracing some route he already knew?” asked the Hulk.
“No, I know what that looks like. To start off with yes, he was but after about two klicks he was as fresh to his surroundings as I was.”
The Hulk snorted “Poor shit’s probably never been further than 15 Hab-blocks from the dumpster he was born behind, he’s in for one hell of an education.” The Hulk would know, he was born on a similar Hive world far far from this one. In these places you didn’t stray far from home unless you had either a death wish or a Regiment of PDF at your back and even then some times you didn’t come back.
“He as good as you?” asked Blackhole.
“In a hive? Probably better actually. Anywhere else? Straight off the bat? Doubtful, he won’t be used to it. He’s a natural though, he’ll learn pretty fast.” One-on-the-left seemed confident of this, he’d better be, if he was wrong it could get them all killed... or worse.
Blackhole pondered this for a moment, time seeming to stand still again, then in a soft voice he spoke.
“He is without taint and despite having a different name for it, his faith in the Emperor is strong. His jitters are an illusion. His soul is strong. He will do.”
In the cell Redfoot continued fiddling with claw on the cloak unaware of just how much his existence was about to change.
The Inquisitorial Agent that goes by the name of Redfoot as shown in the pict captures above is armed with a double barrelled stubber than appears to have undergone modifications to allow it to accept a box magazine as apposed to it’s usual break double shot loading system, such micro tech bears the hallmark of Squat tinkering and as such would be considered borderline blasphemous by the Adeptus Mechanicus. He also carries a crude club, most likely made by himself. Although his exact birthplace is hard to determine from our extensive records by his dress and war-paint it is obvious he comes from the lower reaches of a Hive Planet. The animal skin he wears looks similar to a species of Giant Rodent found of planets such as Necromanda and Piskus 7. Judging from the metal plating that can be seen on his back underneath it he wears some sort of flak vest and the two shoulder pads support this idea. The source of these shoulder pads could be one of any number of Imperial Guard Regiments and are likely to be stolen thus making the symbols of the two Iron Skulls meaningless.