[Group Story] Livin' the Hive-Life

[Thantos]

Something a bit new here, borderline RP but i think its still mainly fiction. A group story written by anyone who wishes to post a section. We will see where the story meanders off to i guess
Very simple rules:

* Anyone can post the next segment, no mininum but a max of 1000 words per segment.
You can post directly and spontaniously into the thread with your passage.
You can reserve a post for up to 24 hours by posting *RESERVED* and then edit your post with the written segment later. After 24 hours, reserve is void.

* Make up your own characters / plot / style.
Anything goes, it doesnt matter if you are a semi-pro writer or a 10th grade english student - the aim is to get people involved and not put people off

* Keep it in character.
Try and follow the characteristics laid out by others, its best  if a character doesnt turn from bad-ass sarge to mincing pansy!

* Dont be precious.
If someone messes with your fave character's actions- suck it up! Thats life - Write the next segment to push the plot the way you want. If someone kills your fave character, introduce a new one or write about another. No complaints in the underhive!

Happy writing and lets see if this stays alive



1843 hours 892.1747 M41. Midhive Necromunda. Dax's Bar.

The one-armed bartender turns and unceremoniously thuds a bottle of brown liquid down on the bar in front of his only customer all day.

"That'll be 89 credits son." He thrusts a cred-reader at the youth who lazily scans it, smirking at the quaint notion of paying with credits. Things were different back in the underhive.

Noticing the smile, the bartender frowns. "Something funny, kiddo?" the older man's facial tattoos scrunching around the eyes.

"Credits funny man." The underhive kid states matter-of-factly and scratches at his bright pink hair, it was probably lice again. "You mid-hive bunch are all soft. Credits, jobs, taxes. Wouldn't last two days in the underhive..." he drinks. The crippled bartender shakes his head slowly and sits back on his stool.

"You got it all wrong son. Mid-hive is full of dangers."

The kid snorts while trying to laugh and drink, making him spit over the bar.
"You funny! This is more dangerous than underhive? Underhive has gangs man" he holds his forearm up, showing a gang tattoo like a medal. The bartender doesn't look impressed, which annoys the kid who then slouches over the bar gulping his drink.

"Let me tell you about mid-hive Necromunda, kiddo. Some people here actually have stuff, credits and shit like that. Think about it, in the underhive, most days it aint worth killing your neighbour. What do you get if you do? Skav-all! A rusty autogun, a pair of boots and a frakked off rival gang looking for you."

"So what, old man?"

"So what if you kill your neighbour in mid-hive? You get a heap of credits, maybe a speeder and some proper tech? Its actually worth killing people here. If you have anything, someone's gonna try to take it and the Arbites dont do shit! Especially dangerous if a gang finds out you have some good gear." The kid perks up with a dull interest.

"How do you know whos got the good tech and speeders then?" he gulps the last from his bottle.

"Thats easy, you gotta have someone who talks to them, gets to know the fattest grox, gets to know them and finds the grox who have the gear. Maybe someone who is also in a gang, so the gang can steal the tech." the bartender rubbed at the stump of his arm.

"Well that sucks man. Coz I couldn't fool many of you mid-hivers to trust an underhive gang kid like me. Eh! Nice idea though." Pink-hair stands up and tosses the empty bottle back at the bartender who catches it sharply.

"I still think you crazy man," The kid turned to leave. "But you're all right, for a soft mid-hiver." The door grinds closed behind him.

"And that's exactly what the fat grox think." mumbles the bartender to himself as he rubs the stump of his arm where there can just be seen the remains of an underhive gang tattoo.

[Fhanados]

I could get in on this! Great intro too. I don't know much Necromunda background, but I'll see what I can come up with.

[RESERVED] - but not a direct continuation, so don't be scared to add to what's there already!


EDIT: Accidentally made new post instead of actually editing. My bad!

[Fhanados]

EDIT: Sorry it took a bit longer than I originally planned, but

Unseen. Unheard. Undetected. The shadow slipped silently past another security node completely invisible to the high-end device. Only someone wealthy in the mid-hive could afford such things. Someone with credits. Someone important. Someone worth killing.

With a quiet hiss of frying electronics and a soft click the door slid open. Without a sound the black figure darted quickly inside and closed the door behind it. Inside was the second level balcony overlooking a wide lobby. The space below was filled with valuables. A plush red carpet ran the entire length of the lower floor, from the extravagant double doors of the main entry to the wide spiral staircase at the far end leading up to the balcony. Either side of the carpet was littered in all kinds of mismatched wealth. Golden busts stood upon marble plinths, exotic furs laid out in front of flickering artificial fireplaces encircled by various lounges, stools and seats all made from rare horns, leathers, metals and synthetics. A burned-out plasma pistol of unknown design was propped up in a plexglass display cabinet along with what appeared to be a certificate of authenticity. Art of various forms covered the walls. Paintings, pic-captures, tapestries and carvings depicted everything from the radiant God-Emperor of Mankind, the infinite void of space and the stars, biology sketches of foreign fauna and flora, family portraits, great battlegrounds and even a depiction of the hive itself.

With an agility that seemed almost unnatural the shadow crossed the breadth of the lobby to the balcony on the opposite side, breaking through another electronic lock to enter a network of narrow corridors. The halls were bedecked in a similar manner to the lobby, rare silken materials with gold and silver weave draped on the walls, skulls of hunted creatures mounted on shields of expensive hardwood, and yet more portraits and artwork. The entire complex reeked of the flamboyant expenditure of someone who had come from nothing and suddenly had everything. To a truly rich upper-hive dweller this would seem tacky and extravagant in the extreme, with no finesse or grace. Here in the mid-hive it was a boast of power and influence, a testament to the riches one could claim if only they had the drive to. And it was this power and influence that the shadow had come to put an end to.

After slowly stalking the arterial hallways of the complex the shadow finally heard the sounds of human occupants. His quarry was near. With a series of thought commands he adjusted his facemask's sensory input configuration. He was able to narrow the spectrum of his hearing, change the brightness and contrast of optical input and became more aware of the temperature and humidity. He performed a series of blinks to test the alternate-spectrum optic sensors, and after finding he could fluidly switch between standard optics, infa-red, thermal and ultraviolet he moved forward.

As he passed the first room in the dormitory chambers his hearing picked up two separate individuals. Heavy breathing, gasping and the occasional muffled word. Narrowing and broadening the input done nothing to identify the sounds further, but a quick thermal optics analysis confirmed his suspicions. This couple were not the target. Even with the intermingled thermal signatures he could quite clearly identify neither was who he was looking for. Another hiss and click ensured the door would not open in the event of a disturbance. The fewer individuals involved, the easier the job would be.

Most of the remaining rooms contained no occupants, and those that did were either locked or had their tenants incapacitated by various means, some permanently so. Either way, nobody awake or alive was aware of the shadow.

He found his target at the furthest end of the corridor. The door was closed but a quick cycle through the visual modes of his advanced optics revealed all he needed to know. A soft high-pitched whirring noise was emitted by his exosuit, artificial muscle fibre bundles powering up. The time for subtlety was over. Solidifying flexmetal armour plates clicked rigidly into place. The target must be made an example of. The activation of supplementary systems and augmentations finalised the process. He was prepared. This is what he was here for.

The door to the luxury apartment burst into a twisted mass of warped and broken metal. Through the smoke strode the shadow, no longer a lithe, athletic figure shrouded in a shimmering distortion field. It was now a hulking incarnation of death. Solid. Powerful. Unstoppable.

Both guards raised their rifles but no sooner had the elaborately decorated lasguns been levelled at their target they dropped from the dead hands of their owners. Only two people remained now – the target and another.

A big man in extravagant officer-style clothing stood from behind his finely carved bone desk, pistol in hand.
"You dare come in mah place?!"
He was sweating.
"You dare kill MAH people?"
He was shaking.
"This plasma fool," the man raised the crude yet ornate weapon squarely at the shadow's chest. "This burn a hole in yah, right throo. Then ah gotta fix the hole in mah wall. All cuzza YOO!"
He was irrelevant.

The shadow raised his hand and there was a brief flash or red. The man screamed, his smouldering arm making a soft thud as it hit the ground, cut clean off at the shoulder. Another red flash cut the scream short.

"I'm surprised you came up from the lower hive," it was a woman's voice, soft and well spoken but clearly heard over the sound of sizzling flesh. "I thought you rich boys weren't allowed up until you've proven yourself to be a real man."

"An exception was made. I was given a job by my House, I am honour-bound to fulfil it."

He looked at the finely dressed woman. She wore a tasteful yet clearly expensive dress of fine flowing material that clung to her youthful body. Target acquired.

"Such a shame. I was hoping it was for money. The higher bidder always wins when it's money."

The shadow drew a long combat knife from its scabbard and examined its edge, glinting in the artificial firelight. "This will not be pleasant for you."

"No, I expect not," a single tear rolled down her face. "Goodbye baby brother..."

The very next day the local 'net ran an article – "Gang violence ravages middle hive – upper House implicated". Nobody cared. A lesser gang had been purged from the middle hive. The upper Houses understood the event, it was written in blood and gore and bone in what seemed to be a pointlessly brutal attack. It was a warning, and it was not well received...

[Chris]

Vashti looked out over the city sprawling out before her. Smoke coughed up from the manufactorum block and it choked the light as it filtered through the clouds creating a pale, wan non day. Soot had stained the roads and condensation run off trickled through the gutters.
The Hive was a grim place to live. Thankfully, Vashti had grown up in the upper sectors of the hive. Her father was some big wig in the administratum for decades. His life of service and faithfulness had afforded Vashti the life she had lived for the previous twenty three years. Of course, this doesn't mean everything was easy. She still had to fight to maintain the standard of life she had become accustomed to. Father had always provided a body guard to escort her on the rare occasion that she ventured into the lower levels.

The poverty that surrounded the upper sectors was so at contrast to the false class and grandeur of home. It almost looked as though she was looking out through a portal to a different world. Taking a backward step into her luxurious penthouse apartment, Vashti walked over to one of the solid marble bars where a bottle of champagne was sat in a bucket of ice. All rather quaint and old fashioned perhaps, but Vashti had never been one for all the simple, Spartan style of the Hab blocks and residential compartments. She was vaguely aware of her body guards stood just on the far side of her door. The faint shuffling of their body armour and the creaking of the hardwood floorboards and the soft clip of their boot heels. These sounds were a constant reminder that she hadn't been left alone, she took some level of comfort from their presence. But still something in her wanted more. Living in the wealth of her family hadn't filled all the holes in her life. In fact, Vashti had begun to more and more often find herself getting bored with her surroundings, and more and more often she found herself looking out her huge windows, out towards the grime, the sludge and the smog.

Vashti had heard from the news bulletins that someone had been murdered in mid hive the previous night. An upper family was massacred at some form of party, the world had made sure that the Upper Hive families were horrifically aware of their mortality. Nothing was impossible if you committed enough time, energy and the all-important money. Due to suspiscion and the pretence of safety, her father had doubled security around Vashti's room. Her brother had pulled a few strings in the Arbites office and pulled an extra couple of officers to patrol the upper districts. Quinn had always been the favourite child, it had seemed ever since he was born eighteen years ago that he could do no wrong. With underhand payment and promises, father had ensured a place in the Adeptus Arbites academy, Quinn had spent a year training there before he was advanced to a desk job. He hadn't had to patrol the lower hive, he had never risked his life on patrol, but still the office insisted that so long as the financial support kept flowing, Quinn had a great and bright future with the Arbites.
Vashti returned to her huge windows, her long dark hair flowing down her supple olive skinned back. A white dress hung around her body at the neck and waist concealing her finely toned body. By all reports, Vashti was the woman whom all the men were aiming for. A real prize for any man who could prove their worth to the Cardel family. There had been a time when Vashti had enjoyed the attention, men swooned over her where ever she went. However those times were becoming fewer and further between. The occasions had just become boring and Vashti was longing for more in her life.
An alarm rang out across the upper hive. "One Hour to Rain Storm", came the alert. The heavy manufacturing had ruined the ozone. The chemicals and toxins of everyday life would gather in the clouds and with regular intervals, the whole Hive would experience heavy acid rain storms. This rain was strong enough to melt the stone of the roads and corrode metal roofing. The Cardel family had invested in storm proof buildings, but Vashti couldn't help but wonder how the mid and lower hive residents managed to survive. Once again she was reminded just how different the world outside her windows was.

[Fhanados]

The dust of his most recent encounter slowly cleared. A heavy haze of rust, chemical residue and gunpowder began to settle, uncovering the aftermath of a one sided battle. It was more akin to an execution than combat. A dozen bodies laid strewn about the inside of the disused pipeline, each bearing brutally fatal wounds. Some had suffered the clean, cauterized dismemberment of a laser cutter while others had been raked with a hail of autogun fire that had near torn them apart. More than a few had gaping holes in their skulls, brain and bone splattered on the curved concrete surface but most disturbing were the ones who had been torn apart, seemingly by bare hands. They were a message. A warning.

Amidst the carnage was a dull metallic object. Roughly egg shaped and large enough to hatch a fully-grown human. It seemed out of place in the grime and death and ruin within the pipeline, but in truth it was right at home. Thick cables sprouted from the bottom, fanning out in different directions. From these cables more grew, like roots forming a spider's web across the floor. Some of the corpses had become entangled and were being broken down into chemical sustenance. Smaller pods had seemingly sprouted from the ground, forming a perimeter around the main egg like planets orbiting a star. Within, the Shadow rested. Within he dreamed. He remembered.

"You have attended your task dutifully my son. Our House will remember this debt it owes to you"

"One can hardly refuse the order of the Patriarch father. You know this. You know I had no choice" the Shadow addressed a tall man garbed in an elegant silver robe that flowed like satin. He knew it was not such a mundane cloth though; it was something far more expensive. Far more advanced. "Besides, the House will not remember me. It cannot even acknowledge the circumstances that led to the task being necessary. By Terra I won't even be paid for it now that the banker has decided that it would be too suspicious should someone notice the funds being reallocated. 'Too much to give a Spryer, not enough to wrap in silk' he says!"

"Calm yourself Zenith! You know it is necessary to be discrete with such matters. Should any of the other Houses learn of what truly transpired we could lose more than just business and wealth," his father turned to face him, his sunken crimson eyes glaring at his son's emotionless faceplate. "We could lose EVERYTHING!"

The silver man's words echoed across the marble and glass chamber. It was empty aside from the occasional plaque or portrait, and scantly furnished with a few hi-tech looking chairs and lounges, the newest toys of the rich. There was a long silence before Zenith spoke again.

"I am returning to my trials father," Zenith turned away from him. He could barely look at the bald, withered old man anymore. "I may only be your youngest son but I will not be used as a tool for the politicking of our House. Should you have need of me, short of the Patriarch himself addressing me personally I shall not return. Find one of my other siblings to suit your needs for familicide."

***Biological Nutrient levels optimal – ceasing sustenance acquisition protocol
***Imminent threats detected: NONE
***Retracting orbital support nodes – Sensor system temporarily offline
***Disengaging stasis cell

The egg crumbled into a grey dust. The spider web of cords retracted, bringing with them the orbital nodes. Everything was gradually broken down, the fine particles seemingly magnetised, attracted to the human shape emerging from the pod, clinging to his frame. In less than a Terran standard minute there was no trace of any of the alien devices. All that remained was the Shadow. Awake. Aware. Armed.

Zenith ran a quick Auspex scan of the pipeline's interior. There were a few makeshift refuges, not uncommon in such a well-sheltered structure, but no life forms. No threats. Further scans formed a detailed map of the pipe and he began his journey through the labyrinthine network of tunnels, corridors and crawlspaces. His journey deeper into the lower Hive. The hunt would begin anew...