Bound Fate (Warhammer High)
 | This article contains PROMOTIONS! Don't say we didn't warn you. |
Writefag ILikeCommas' first substantial contribution to the Warhammer High universe. Violence, promotions and deaths abound in this action/thriller: the story is NOT for the faint of heart, and fans of the standard WHH material can expect to be put off by some scenes. If you're looking for some chems, investigations and gang warfare to go with your romantic comedy, then read on.
- Skater
- Someone given over wholly to their slide addiction; analogous to meth-head, tweaker, junkie, dopefiend.
Bound Fate
Acknowledgments & Dedication
Thanks to Ahriman's Aide and Someone else. for advice on lore, characters and just writing.
Kudos to DarkMage for first portraying Furia as more than just anger.
This book is dedicated to Brett.
Hope you found your peace.
Preface
This is not the story you think it is.
This is not a story about nineteen exceptional girls living the dream of an ordinary life.
This is the story of those ordinary people who sacrificed their own chance for a normal life,
to ensure this dream came to pass.
Prologue
Miranda floated effortlessly through the Warp, the unctuous deep of happenstance and undiluted emotion. She felt peaceful, content in a way she rarely felt in the Materium, the real world. Her father had often warned her against delving into the Great Ocean, but with the rapid increase in her psychic ability she'd begun to do so unconsciously in her sleep.
Magnus grudgingly accepted the necessity of Miranda's trips, but only at home, around him. She'd agreed excitedly, and while her cousins slept only four hours a night, she would often spend six or more treading the currents of the Empyrean.
Miranda had to admit, it felt much safer to do so at home, her father's presence calming the tides somewhat. She felt his warmth and guidance all around her, buoying her up and removing every last trace of insecurity she'd felt in the past. The image of a black diamond passed over Miranda's thoughts, and she shuddered despite the warmth of her bed.
Suddenly everything changed.
Miranda heard a dull roar, felt a blankness overcome her, and the warp went dark. One-by-one points of light emerged into the darkness. So few at first, and so dull.
But then more, and as more appeared each grew brighter, more colorful. They grew into the dozens, thousands, billions. Into a great multicolored star, innumerably more than its component parts.
Soon they spread, farther and farther, a whole galaxy of lights, of stars.
And then they began to disappear.
In a haze of red and black the lights turned malevolent. They began to devour each other, so many lights vanishing to hate and fear.
Miranda felt herself cry at the death, the loss of life.
Just when all seemed lost another light revealed itself, greater and brighter than the others. A light that had been there all along, watching, waiting for this time of need. It drew the other lights around it and the first star was born again, greater and brighter than ever.
The other lights swirled and moved around it, never approaching.
They came close enough to warm themselves, but not to warm the great light. For a time the great light stilled in its actions, then from it emerged other lights, brighter than the myriad smaller lights. They formed a bridge, a middle ground between the great light and the small lights.
And then it exploded.
The brighter lights spread out and the great light sought them, bringing other lights, making them brighter than they were that they might brave the darkness. It was long and terrible, and not all the brighter lights were found, but the smaller lights were brought into the fold. Soon the galaxy of lights was back, swirling around the great light, studded by the brighter lights. It was balanced, harmonious.
It was good.
And yet the brighter lights began to move, to fidget and chafe. They had been made to seek and unite the smaller lights, and without a purpose they grew distressed.
And so the great light made more of the brighter lights. They were smaller and more delicate than the first host, but more beautiful and lively. They formed a bridge, a connection, between the now dancing brighter lights and the galaxy.
All was complete.
Perfect.
Miranda felt herself pulled, jerked away as she saw an imperfection.
She flew among the lights and could see the picture up close.
The lights were still bright, but the subtleties, the inconsistencies began to show. Like an ocean that appears blue and clean from afar, but up close the pollution and grime forms into layers, distinct tracts among the water.
Among the lights.
Miranda saw one in particular as she drifted, a rough blackness, a star of darkness.
Like the great light it sought the warmth of its brood, but the other lights moved away, swirling ever around it.
Miranda wept again, a tear of loneliness.
One of the lights, duller than the others, sought out the blackness and approached it.
The dull light dimmed momentarily as the blackness embraced it.
But happiness came soon, and love bloomed.
The light grew brighter.
They danced, capered and frolicked with each other, even when a tract of red nearly carried the blackness away. The other lights kept their distance, uneasy as they always had been, shunning the blackness and its companion.
Soon the blackness formed into a diamond.
A single, solitary, transcendent perfection among the roughness of light.
Then a single light, smaller and weaker than the others, moved in. It was afraid of the blackness.
But the blackness was contained in the diamond and it was easy to approach. The weak light tore away at the black diamond and grew brighter, a blood red brightness.
Soon the other lights moved in and tore as well.
They each took a small piece of the black diamond and grew brighter, red.
The once-dull light jumped and bounded, but it was too late. The black diamond began to crumble, and with it went a piece of the once-dull light.
The loneliness came, stronger than ever, to Miranda.
The end of the black diamond propelled the again-dull light, and it shambled, stumbled throughout the galaxy of stars. It began to move faster and faster, grow terribly brighter. Not completely red, not fully of anger and blood, but with a terrible purpose. It moved in an indiscernible pattern, swirling around the brighter lights and the delicate-brighter lights. It learned from the weak light how to tear, steal, and it did so. It tore at the delicate-brighter lights one at a time, making them duller, changing their color and movement.
The great light saw this and grew red, more terrifying than any red that had come before, even before it first appeared. But the again-dull light had learned from the dull light, and all the weak lights. It plunged into the great light and the great light was rent asunder, split and carried amongst the galaxy of lights.
All went black.
Miranda instinctively sought out her father, an easy task given the size of his presence in the Immaterium. She was afraid, but not sure why. Like a dream she couldn't remember after waking up. She found him in the library, reading a book, and couldn't help but smile at how content he was with the simple act.
Hive Tetra
Hive Tetra, Terra. Hab Block #113. Early Septembris, sunset.
One continuous smoky pall covers the hab block from wall to wall, close as it is to the underhive.
Somewhere deep in the gloom an exhaust fan kicks on, drawing feebly at the thick, foul air. A current begins to stir, slowly, reluctantly. Minor eddies appear in the smoke now, swirls within swirls that only serve to enhance how filthy the air is. It isn't just dust and grit, but the bite of the air that defines it.
The long pseudosummer is finally drawing to an abrupt close, far more quickly than any normal weather would on most planets. The once ninety degree weather outside has dropped rapidly in the past few days, and in another week will be below fifty on a daily basis. Even something as basic as this is worse in the lower hive.
The middle hive and upper hive remain fairly warm year-round, but the old exhaust systems and sunkenness of the lower levels ensure that cold air comes into the squalor quickly, and holds firm even into the summer months. Low, chunky buildings–at odds with the newer, more efficient designs above–squat unevenly amongst a perfectly organized grid, roads meeting roads at right angles. This organization is a lie.
Numerous alleys, home to the lowest of the low, cut between the buildings, seemingly at random. Most are poorly lit, if at all, and constant sounds come from the darkness. Vapour rats, some too malnourished to even blend in, scurry from shadow to shadow, seeking scraps of of food in trash receptacles. The occasional bum or dead body provides more nutrients to the rats and their larger brethren than any Adept would admit.
To the north lies a school, larger and cleaner than the surrounding buildings, but only just so. It sits alone, mournful despite its frequent use and current occupation. It is a joke, a distraction, a promise that will never be kept. The children of Block #113 learn many things, but only one legal profession matters here, and this, more than anything, contributes to the prevalence of Slide trafficking. Not far from the school the air turns fouler still, thick with death and industry, with the reality of their future lives.
To the east sits this truth, a massive Soylens processing facility, churning day and night to process the deceased, airtrucks conveying fresh foodstuffs to the area and other blocks above. A smell permeates the air for blocks around, something savory and revolting. The apartments around the plant are the cheapest in the entire hive, an unfortunate truth for the menial laborers needed to run the machinery in the building. Most grow up knowing only the stench of fresh soylens, live their lives eating it and die making it.
After death they became soylens, another product to be processed, packed and shipped.
The overlights, already barely powered, begin to dim along with the ebbing draw of solar energy on the hiveskin far above. They dull in a grim reflection of the outside sun; first from hazy white to orange-yellow, then to a dull red before finally extinguishing completely. Twilight falls, then flees for a brief time with this; it returns as the sparse lumen strips dotting the grime-covered buildings and few streetlamps come to life. Most streets are still well lit, but too many are dark now, appearing as they truly are, larger alleys to hide the iniquity and filth of undersociety.
This close to the underhive disgusting things lurk, mutated and deformed humans simply the least of them. Houses, a dark mockery of the upper hive nobles, organize amongst themselves. They divide up aspects of the black market and criminal economy, vying for control in legal and illegal ways. And even these are merely puppets or prey to worse, far more calculating evils that stud the reaches of the nobility and Administratum high above.
Even on Terra corruption is rampant.
Amongst the dank air, tarnished buildings and darkness, a pair of lights appear, cutting a swath through murk and corruption alike. The black aircar, so clean as to seem at odds with it surroundings, reflects the precious ambient light graciously. Subtle variances of black to gray are offset by navy blue trim, defining and even highlighting the car against the grime that surrounds it. Blocks ahead of the vehicle something resists the light it shines, a flitting shadow in the darkness high above. After a moment another shadow flickers through, and another.
Soon an entire column of shadows, whirling and rotating in a great lazy circle, reveal themselves. Awakened by the vent-borne stir of the tepid air, the carrion bats ride weak currents, ever searching. They descend, nearing their sustenance, then rise again in deference to the predator they seek to scrounge from.
Arbitrator-Patrolman Idiam Thar cracked a window, the vehicle's cabin still warm from its descent. The smell of the lower hive filtered in through the narrow gap between pillar and glass.
His nose caught the air, the scent of grime, old masonry, mold and rancid water.
A slight burnt odor carried through from the exhaust ducts and undercut the smells, nearly hiding the stench of the soylens district he was fast approaching. After another three minutes Thar finally felt it. It was a stink in the air, fouler even than the soylens, and too faint to truly discern. He felt it in his gut: death, not the processed essence of soylens, but real death, messy and unexpected.
Thar grunted in acknowledgement of the smell as he saw the carrion bats. They listed through the air, falling slowly, gradually, then suddenly banking into an upturn, starting a fresh circle. He wasn't worried about carrion bats. He knew carapace armor, a stubpistol and common sense were more than enough to handle them.
Still glad I brought the Lawbringer. Thar patted the weapon in the passenger's seat, almost like a proud father. Many Patrolmen would take the opportunity to kill some bats, any reason to fire off a few rounds, but Thar knew better. He had work to do, real work, not toadying to his negligent Commander like the others. Something was disturbing Thar, something in his gut. Not the stench of death, he knew that well, intimately.
Felt it. Idiam's hand went reflexively to his neck, prodding at the loose bandage he'd changed this morning, before work. It was the product of a vicious fight with a criminal, a killer that slaughtered his partner.
I barely made it out of there alive.
He grunted again, returning to the task at hand. They're not landing. Idiam looked up again, confirmed his instinct. The carrion bats, at least two dozen, were still circling lazily high above. It took a while for that many to gather, more than he'd ever seen before. And I've seen more than enough. Thar pulled the aircar into an alley, turning off his headlights and idling it down onto the landing points. He engaged the positive-action security system before shouldering the Lawbringer III shotgun, checking his pistol and exiting the vehicle.
The distance wasn't far, but it was all alley, all darkness, so the going was slow. Idiam strode forward, surprisingly quiet in his armor and greaves. One eye played around the alleys and streets, the other kept watch on the not-sky above, on the carrion bats. P-23 Patrolmen, his coworkers, would've simply driven up, spooking the suspect, or given up and filled out a vague report, let the body get scavenged by the soylens plant.
He's still there. Thar was sure of it. There were few things that could dissuade a carrion bat from its meal, but they always waited for the killer, for the predator to leave before they took their fill. It was the last task of the day for Idiam, and not even his. It'd been passed up by his cohorts in favor of an early start on the weekend, on amasec and other things, but Thar wouldn't let it remain unfinished.
He stopped, pressed himself into the shadows, then cast an eye around the streets, over the dilapidated buildings and stripped cars. Thar saw nothing, but he trusted his gut, so he waited. Silence, darkness and patience. Idiam had always known how to get the drop on someone, but it was burned into his mind more strongly then ever after yesterday's attack by the cultists. So he waited, and his diligence was rewarded. An alleyscamp, a hive kid whose parents were dead or simply abandoned him, peeked out from behind a car, looking for the Arbites. He brandished a knife, eyes manic with fear and hunger, loneliness. Thar gripped the Lawbringer and he cocked it once, unnecessary to fire it, then caught the ejected round before it could hit the ground.
The sound had the desired effect, a heavy click-thunk! that drove the scamp away as surely as any stub or lasbolt would. Thar waited still, reloading the shotgun, watching the alleys behind and in front of him, peeking down the street. After another minute he was satisfied and began to move once more. Despite the freshness of the autumn season, cold had set in down here, hard, and Thar was thankful he'd worn his overcoat after all. The shotgun was shouldered while his other hand brought up a flashlight. The powerful beam scanned the darkness ahead briefly, and the flashlight was slung back on his belt. Idiam inhaled again, quietly, as he picked his way forward. The soylens was stronger, but he could smell the other now, palpable. Death.
A streak of panic ran through Thar, a memory from his childhood. He hadn't grown up here, but it was close enough. Little Idiam had been playing with his friends, hide and seek, tag, he could barely remember now. But he'd run deep into the alleys, the darkness, and found himself lost. Idiam had wandered for hours, afraid to call out and to draw attention to himself, before he'd finally been found.
His nose started to itch, the pressing stench of fresh soylens almost physical, flavored by the preserved and prepared bodies that would form the finished product. Thar hated soylens, one of the few legally accepted concepts he had trouble with. Somehow it seemed disrespectful of both the dead and the earth.
The stench of death was stronger here, too, and the combined sensory assault began to make his eyes water. Like most residents of the hive, Thar had been born there, raised there. His youthful experience in getting lost drove him to join the Arbites, to reveal the secrets of the back alleys that had nearly overwhelmed him. Idiam liked wearing a uniform, liked the respect it earned him. But, contrary to many others in his Precinct, he welcomed the responsibility the armor brought, welcomed earning the armor. He'd never once thought about leaving the hive, about leaving the neighborhood he grew up in. One of the few things Idiam Thar took true pride in was cleaning up his home block, and keeping it clean.
He stopped again and pressed into an alley, looking around. The carrion bats, high above the squat buildings, were skimming overhead as they banked high once more. Almost there. The smell of death overpowered the soylens now, and Idiam readied his shotgun. He waited, the area beyond silent, the air utterly still save for the carrion bats. Thar heard nothing, felt nothing. No presence to keep the bats at bay.
Strange. The nearby lamps, ever cycling off and on, began to dim again, and Thar made his move. He stepped out into the street in the momentary darkness, moving silently, waiting and watching.
He scanned the area, watching, looking for the predator, whether a giant hive rat, a ganger or something worse. He saw nothing. Thar began to sweep low and his eye caught the body, the last thing he was worried about right now. Instead it consumed his attention completely. The shotgun drooped, then fell, along with his jaw.