The footsteps drew closer.
"Okay," you said. The person nodded and beckoned you down the hall as they pulled back, and you followed, pistol in hand. Cass said nothing, but you could hear the litany of profanity and doubt in her mind the entire way, blending with your own reservations. But she trusted you, and assumed you had a good reason to trust them.
Indeed, you felt no malice from them, no deception. Trepidation, yes, fear, a great deal. As you descended a short ramp through a low, half-collapsed wall, they rapped on an empty pipe and you felt the sound rattle down to deeper below the earth, as a warning to others you were coming, but it was a gesture of caution, not to set up an ambush. There was one person they were warning in particular.
You could never tell for
certain, some people were good at guarding their thoughts, but they did not strike you as a master of deception. They also didn't strike you as particularly dangerous, lacking the criminal's fixation on a payday or the buzzing, cloying madness of a fallen cultist. The footsteps, still behind you, grew distant.
Finally, in the pitch darkness, you came to an old door with a slot in it, one a pistol barrel emerged from.
"It's Thorne," the person (Thorne, you supposed) whispered through the latch. "I have… friends. People on the run from the Imperials. And I have water."
"How many?" the voice on the other side of teh door asked. "Are they armed?"
"Two, and yes."
There was a long quiet.
"You
bloody idiot, you stupid fucker, why'd you lead them here?" the voice on the other side said. You felt their panic and revulsion as they realised with horror they'd need to kill you both. "By the Prince, you…"
"One of them's a witch, she needs our help," Thorne said. "Please, you're always saying we need to be better than them!"
The space behind the door boiled with an internal battle.
"...Take their weapons. They go unarmed until they leave," the voice said firmly. You looked to Cass, in charge of your security, and she shook her head.
"We don't know who you are either, now," you said. "We mean you no harm, but we can't part with our weapons. What if we stow them?"
The pipes echoed with the sounds of footsteps, growing louder.
"Father, please," Thorne added. The rusty gears grinding against each other gave way.
"Fine. Come."
The door unlatched with a clunk as you put your pistol back in your handbag, revealing a middle-aged man with an absolutely ancient looking laspistol, the sort with the rounded, flared body and small power pack in the handle. The man behind it was as pale as his child, but had clearly aged with an incredible grace. He didn't look younger than his years, necessarily, but those years had been very kind and left him a rugged sort of handsome that, somehow, set your heart a very embarrassing bit aflutter.
The fact he was pointing a laser gun didn't bother you. His finger and mind were off the trigger, his eyes drawn to your brand. There was the usual spike of hate and disgust, but for the first time in a while it was reserved for the people who had done this to you. He felt nothing but sympathy for you, the guarded attitude melting away.
"Come in then, quickly now," he said, waving the pistol. "And welcome back, Thorne."
You stepped inside what looked like, and probably was, a very ancient Imperial orbital raid shelter; you'd been inside dozens and this had all the familiar shapes. Some things were missing; you felt the shadow where an aquila had once been on the wall, covered now with a dizzyingly detailed mural in hand-mixed paint. Shelves, carved apart from long-forgotten shipping crates, lined the walls, hydroponics units bubbling and gurgling under sun lamps.
This bunker was
filled with stories, fear and joy and apprehension in the shadows, generation on generation. It was first built for cardinals and their servants, but they'd left the doors open for as many as they could take and then they'd had to stay, as weeks became months, became years, became
centuries. Families had grown here, children had called it home, people had loved and lost, told stories of the beautiful old cathedrals and the good old days, dreamed of a distant Terra and the angels it would one day send. Or, more recently, new old stories, and hope that help would come from another place.
While they weren't all here, you could tell some were hiding elsewhere, an extended family lived here. There were areas curtained in worn fabric and furs for sleeping, enough for perhaps a dozen people, and signs of craft and labour were everywhere. There were spots on the floor where children had clearly been playing. It was not the entire community; this was an outpost, closest to the surface, but people from other communities came here and they went to them, all the strings tying people together tangling in a wonderfully human way.
At the end of the hall was a shrine, but it was, unsurprisingly, not an Imperial one. It held a silver statue of a being with many arms; they'd once held swords and whips but those delicate parts had long ago broken off, leaving just this imperiously beautiful creature to look up to. In your mind's eye, it radiated a warm light, too bright to look at; not warm like the sun, but hot like the touch of a lover, not the purity of gold but the perfection of mirrored silver.
Intellectually, you recognized it, but something was wrong. Something was wrong in that
nothing was wrong. You half-reached for your handbag.
"Come now, then, take a seat. They'll be searching for a while, but won't find you down here. Thorne, settle them in now," the middle-aged man said, taking a seat on a barrel beside the door and levelling the pistol. "Get their stories, while we're waiting."
"Ah, right. Tea, either of you?" Thorne asked.
"No," Cass said instantly, shooting a glance toward you. You should refuse, but…
"Yes, please."
Thorne poured a small amount of their precious water from a taken into an electric kettle near the wall, one repaired and rebuilt lovingly over the years, then gestured to a padded area near the corner.
"How'd you end up on the run, then? Those were their killers proper, weren't they?" Thorne asked, after clearly spending some time thinking of how to ask. They wanted to know who you were to assess the danger,
"Redemptors, yes, fanatics," you replied. "They build the pyres for the Church and go on their crusades. They have pursued me for… some time now, and they had us cornered." No lies, all lies.
"Not take much to run afoul of them, I imagine," Thorne's father added grimly. "You're a witch, that makes sense, but what'd she do then?"
It took Cass a second to perk up. In her experience,
she did not mean
her unless one of her few friends said it. She almost said
they didn't let me be me before the vault of her soul locked that away and provided a safer answer.
"I'm protecting her," she said simply. That seemed to be enough.
"Dahlia, by the way. This is Cass," you said. "Thank you so much for your hospitality."
"It's nothing," Thorne's father said, the words weighing heavily. "My kid's right, we got to be better than the bastards."
These are cultists of the Enemy, you know that, right? Cass' mental voice said, her normal calm sharpened with an edge of existential panic. You nodded.
You KNOW?
"So, you grow your own food?" you said, shifting topics as best you could. Thorne poured the kettle out into a mismatched trio of cups, smiling.
"Aye, and medicine. And tea. We have more than enough for now, we're lucky they're too bloody stupid to notice the water we syphon. That too, most of what we do is bring fresh water down to augment the recyclers, but we might as well use our access to grow things easily, right?"
"Makes us very popular," their father added.
They didn't
sound like cultists, in their heads. Cultists were, in the majority of cases, people who got so desperate they let something into their brains, a burr of blood or lust or despair or ambition, unnaturally sharp and persistent, and they let it wear away their thoughts into rags because it felt better than the alternative.
"The medicine especially, the rejuv takes a lot of water. We could ill-afford it deeper in, but here the water's a short way," Thorne concluded, turning and handing you a small, cracked mug. Whatever image it had once held was long gone, worn away by the years. "Care, now, it's right hot."
Inquisitor Praxis' predecessor knew that cultists emerged from the horrifying oppressive conditions, people desperate for another way; you had helped Praxis study the enemy because she needed to know if it was possible to reject those conditions without falling to that madness. You'd concluded there was something else, because your growing circle of allies had thus far remained uncorrupted while the madness sprang up in groups with far smaller goals. It wasn't
really just about toppling the Imperium; it was because the madness of Chaos soothed the grinding, monotonous crush of Order, at least at first.
You took a sip. There was no sugar, but it was strangely sweet. Cass let out a breath that came out as a half-sob.
"Thank you," you replied. Nothing came for your soul, as much as Dahlia the Guilty screamed and tore at the walls of your mind that you were already doomed. "It's very good."
"We make do," Thorne replied, settling down opposite with a cup of his own. "You can hold up as long as you like, or we can take you down to the city proper."
"Our work on the surface isn't complete, but thank you for the offer. We'll just keep our heads down," you responded, looking around. "Your family lives here?"
"Aye, my parents, myself and my sister, her kids, and my wife," Thorne said. "We'll retreat below if they're getting too bold upstairs, but it hasn't happened in years. I think it's some sort of old shelter, must of been built in the old days. Before the invaders came."
They were right, even though they were wrong.
"You're from off-world, aren't you?" they asked. You nodded. "From the Empire, rejects. We're… the Empires only been here two centuries, you know. Before that, our people lived in this world for as long as anyone can remember, and it was beautiful. We had temples, cities, parks,
palaces."
"Now my child, we didnae have any palaces ourselves, you know," their father corrected.
"Well, I mean…" they swirled their hands. "There
were palaces, our
people had them. The devoted-."
"Fires of youth," their father interrupted. "People didnae have anything, the nobility did. Our family were plasteel workers, not kings."
"There was
hope, though!" Thorne replied, the words falling into a familiar script that played out between these two. Their father remained silent.
"What was it like?" you asked, voice small. These were the enemy, no, they were
The Enemy, but they were the first time you'd ever faced the Enemy and found
people, instead of the hollowed-out puppets the ruinous powers made of their bodies. There might never be a chance to learn like this again.
There was a short silence, neither sure who should talk first. You drank a little more of the tea.
"Thorne's got the right of it. It was beautiful, it must have been," their father said eventually. "But it was also hard, for a lot of people. If you were rich, lived in the palaces, endless luxury, but most people…"
Cass' mind ran red with images of mass human sacrifice, profane rituals, demonhosts, torture, rape, mutilation, mutation…
"... most were as poor as you could imagine, sucked dry by the temple taxes and wars and bosses. Worked half to death in the factories, and if you stole to get something to eat they'd hand you over to the priests and…" He made a throat-cutting gesture.
"We never burnt a billion people alive…" Thorne muttered despondently.
"No, but even so… there were some who were
glad, when the Empire arrived, hell, there were
cults to their corpse, insane fanatics. Used to burn buildings as sacrifices, blow up schools, cut themselves up for some reason, the lot of it. But for a lot of people at the bottom, it was the only escape, right? That's how we ended up here."
You… were not expecting that.
"What do you mean?" you asked.
"My grandfather was a union man, and the unions and the corpse-cults were… not close, of course, they were mad, but those cults overlapped with us and they overlapped with the people hiding underground, the ones who used to use these tunnels. We think they might have been corpse-cultists who calmed down a bit but couldn't return to normal society for fear of punishment? Who knows. When the invaders came…" he paused. "... they reached out to us, what they called the
good ones, while they went out to greet their 'saviours' and never came back. My grandparents were some of those."
"They hunted us through the tunnels for
years, but the idiots had burnt everyone who knew the way," Thorne continued. "Must have thought they got us all, but the Prince was watching. Our parts in the play weren't over."
They're going to kill us, they're going to rape us and cut us up and kill us, that's what they do, that's all they do- Cass despaired, loudly in her own skull.
Why haven't they started, what are they waiting for?
You reached out, to the Cass building a wall around herself in her own head, and sat with her. Held her hand.
I think I know, I will explain later, you said,
but stay calm. It's going to be okay.
Her breathing steadied.
"Thorne is right about one thing, though, there was hope," their father continued. "It could have gotten better, people were working for it. There's nothing like that under the Empire, there's nothing but corpses, walking and otherwise. I'm glad you've escaped that."
"We've not escaped yet," you said slowly. You breathed in, steadied yourself, and asked the question that had been hanging over your head. "Who is that?"
You pointed to the silver statue.
"That's the Prince, lass," Thorne's father said. "He… she… they're the source of everything beautiful, the God of love, creation, of artists and music. They've kept us safe over their years, because we still have work unfinished."
"D-do you…" Cass started, her voice shaky. "S-sacrifices…"
"Of course!" Thorne said eagerly, Cass's hands pulling inward to shield her body. "Huh?"
"They're probably expecting us to be like their own," their father said. "Blowing up schoolkids and burning people every weekend for a laugh. No, lass, little things, you know, a little part of anything you're going to work on, but mostly you honour them by living your life properly, you know? Love well, make beautiful things, share what you have, have happy children. The old priests did… more than that, but…"
"That was never about the Prince," Thorne interrupted. "That was just about power, control, intimidating people, right?"
"Aye, and the ones who want to bring it back aren't right in the head," their father said.
Of course. The Imperial Church tortured people to death in vast, awful machines in the name of the Emperor, but regular people just paid their tithes and prayed twice a day and didn't think about it. These were, for lack of a better term, normal people the same way.
(They can't all sacrifice virgins; if nothing else, they'd run out quickly. Which, as a virgin, you were somewhat relieved to realise.)
"I'm glad you seem to have level heads, the both of you," Thorne's father continued. "We get people running down here sometimes and most of the time they're just desperate, but sometimes, I think they got some screws loose."
"Fervour of the converted," Thorne said, looking at you cautiously. "They always want to bring back the old laws and all that.
Always."
Something was wrong, but of course it was wrong. This was all wrong.
"Nutters," their father confirmed.
"D-do you think the way is clear?" Cass asked, glancing for the door. Thorne put their ear to a pipe and listened, nodding slowly.
"They've overshot, they're deeper on in the catacombs now. You could slip behind them," they said. "It's probably best you go now."
"Thank you, yes. There are people waiting for us," you said, picking yourself up. Cass did the same, in stiff, almost mechanical actions.
"We'd love to let you stay, but if you have places to be, so be it. Thorne, show them the safe way, will you. May the Prince watch over you both," Thorne's father said cheerfully.
The Emperor protects, the Emperor protects, the Emperor protects… Cass chanted in her head, and she very nearly said it aloud. It drowned out everything else.
Thorne led you through a few dark passages, and gave you instructions for the rest of the way. You could sense their reluctance, but not place it, and they seemed helpful enough, giving you direction until you'd get close enough to the surface to find your way own your own. You'd be coming up near enough to the cafe that you could intercept Dremell and get the hell out of here, maybe even get your car. You thanked them, and they paused at the last moment, slowing their step. Their hand went to their hip, and you felt cold metal as their fingers brushed an ancient stub pistol.
"You're Imperials, aren't you?" they said finally. "I realised it while my dad was talking, you still… you still believe in all that, don't you? I…"
They slowly drew their pistol, and Cass stepped in the way, reaching back for her hellgun.
"I can't let you lead them back," they said, voice desperate. "My wife, I have a kid on the…" They were crying. "You're going to burn them too…"
"We're not going to burn anyone," you said sternly. Their hands were shaking.
"You burn
everyone," they retorted.
---
[ ] Let Cass shoot them.
[ ] Write In.
