Editing Bound Fate (Warhammer High) (section)

===Glemish===
----


A rough slap awoke Glemish. He tried to move and found his hands were bound, his feet lashed to an old wooden chair. He rocked and wiggled, trying to see if he could get out. ''Maybe if I-''
"Ahem."

The sound was low, so quiet Glemish could barely hear it, but it was undeniably ''there''. He waited and waited for something, anything to happen. A creeping dread came upon him as the minutes passed, and he began to struggle again.

"I would recommend ''against'' that course of action, unless you'd rather contend with my cohort, here." A light flicked on, blindingly bright to the underhiver. Soon the details began to resolve, and Glemish relieved himself.

Before him stood two of the Atrisangues, the Blacksnakes. They wore dark clothes and stood in front of the light, its brightness washing out most of the visible detail about them.  He could see the symbol, though, the blackaquila armband they wore like a badge of honor: a black snake wrapped around a golden double aquila, fangs sunk deep, poison welling out. It was a slap in the face to the Arbites, the Treasury, the Munitorum, the Imperium.

''The Emperor himself. And they get away with it.'' They were the most feared gang in Hive Tetra and that was all anyone knew about them. Glemish's terror increased sharply and he could only lament that he had no more waste to pass.

"Whaddya want?" He tried to put the rasp, the old scavvie tone back in his voice, but it came out high and squeaky.

"Perhaps you are not so mentally deficient after all, ''Glemish''." Glemish froze again, and found he indeed had more waste to pass.

''They know m'name. Nobody knows m'name!'' Glemish squeaked once more, incoherently.

"We are very well-informed, ''Glemish''." The voice, low and sibilant, snake-like, said the name with relish, a tender fondness. His every word seemed black with menace, a covenant of monstrous portent.

"Tell me, do you know who controls the distribution of Slide in Hive Tetra?" The voice was honeyed now, smooth. Glemish stammered, stuttered and fell silent. "Come now, it's a simple question." The menace returned to the voice, and the terror returned to chill Glemish's bones and quake his body.

"S-S-S-Stromatol cuntrull thuh Sly-ede rakkit."

The voice laughed like a snake, slithering and slipping, hunting. The other figure laughed, rougher, harsher. 

"''No''." The voice was still sibilant, but now it was deep, unfathomably deep. The terror increased again, a great ominousness looming behind Glemish. "''We''," The figure moved for the first time, a slight incline of the head, causing the scavvie to jump in his bindings, "control the Slide 'racket.' And you ''know'' who we are, don't you Glemish?" Everything went silent again, only the sound of Glemish breathing and his thumping, misshapen heart filled the vast emptiness. "We do not appreciate competition, ''Glemish''." He heard the words and realized he'd made some sort of mistake, but couldn't tell what.

"Now." The figure started to pace, hands clasped behind his back, as if gathering his patience. The other simply stood, stocky and brutal. His body seemed to pulse with breath, but Glemish heard nothing. "We don't ''want'' to hurt you, Glemish." Somehow Glemish knew the man was smiling, a terrible smile, a horrible smile. A knowing smile. "Or, should I say, ''I'' don't want to hurt you. You've been such a good customer, a ''friend'', until two weeks ago." The figure stopped pacing, as if he'd come to a conclusion. "And then you betrayed us. ''Glemish''."

He squealed and thick, milky tears fell from his knotted eyes. He was bawling, uneven musculature causing his body to rack to one side with each sob, spinning and cranking his spine.

"Do not fear, Glemish." The scavvie started to calm, nodding vigorously as he began to regain control of himself. He felt the ropes binding him move, just slightly. His sobbing had loosened them. "You can make it up to me. And it will be so easy." Glemish nodded, squeaked out an affirmation. But his hands worked, slowly and subtly. Strong, gnarled fingers pulled at the rope, horned skin scraped at it.

"Tell me, ''Glemish''." The man smiled again, stood straighter, impossibly straighter. "How many chems do you take each day, ''hm''?" The small word seemed so innocent, but Glemish jumped at it, terrified. "Yes. I thought so. Now," The figure raised a hand and waved to the darkness, a commanding gesture, "I treat my friends well."

A woman appeared, the girl maybe. The light just picked out her features, her sparkling green eyes and golden hair. She handed something to the man, a needle, then folded herself onto him, arms massaging. He didn't seem to notice in the least, remaining perfectly composed. "Our benefits are many, ravishing." A black hand drifted up to her chin and stroked it. She seemed to lose herself in the simple touch. "But our enemies, ''Glemish, MY enemies'', are subjected to tortures beyond your feeble comprehension." The woman continued to knead sensually, laying her head against his shoulder. The light played through her hair like a halo, glistening and impossibly beautiful. In his other hand was the needle, somehow darker than black, ominous. Glemish licked his glutinous lips, his body and mind confused by the conflicting sensations, opposing ideas.

"Do not fear the needle, Glemish. It is only a simple first step." A jet of greasy fluid ejected from the syringe as he tested it. It had an unctuous, chemical smell. The figure chuckled to himself, and Glemish felt terror, terror he would've found unimaginable only hours ago. "Tell me, ''Glemish'', tell me what you fear is in this needle, what you fear most." He leaned forward just slightly. "Tell me, so that I might dispel your fear, the overestimation of your own knowledge. What is in this ''little'' needle is far more terrifying than you can imagine."

The scavvie felt fresh horror wash over him. His eyes flicked back and forth, between the woman and the needle. ''Beauty and terror. Sex and death.''

The figure, Blacksnake himself, Glemish was sure of it, laughed. "I am in an ''equitable'' mood, Glemish, so allow me to save you the trouble. Do you think this is Snakeblind? Hmm? Perhaps Inspissate of Betcher's, harvested from an Astartes? No? You are correct." Glemish began to relax. 

"It is far worse."

At this the other figure, hulking and monstrous, visibly calmed. He smiled, just enough detail revealed by the light to show his deeply satisfied grin. The terror escalated in Glemish again, throbbing back and forth randomly, unbearable.

"As I said, ''Glemish''. This is simply the first step. But it will be more than sufficient alone, I think." The woman smiled whitely, her eyes wet with sick glee. "I know you have heard of this..." Blacksnake's hand waved, searching through the air, as if there was no word capable of describing the horrible truth. The woman took his hand in her own, and he kissed her gently on the cheek. "This ''substance'' before, ''Glemish''. Perhaps you've even seen it." The butcherous silhouette began to breathe again, more slowly, more deeply. Glemish could feel the primal satisfaction coursing through the man. The word finally came out of Blacksnake thickly, heady with assurance. 

"''De-Tox''."

He may as well have promised Slaanesh itself would come for Glemish. Fresh, awe-inspiring terror tore through him. All else before this was nothing. Glemish could feel the Reaper himself on his back, breathing hotly and whispering foul certainties. The thick, milky tears returned, gobbing on his face, slapping down onto his legs and paunch. He slavered and mewled, howled and moaned. He thrashed and tore at his bindings, feeling them grow ever looser with each twist.

"Yes." The word was low, sibilant again. "I thought that might get your attention. Now." Blacksnake coughed lightly. "We need not resort to this Glemish. My friend. Simply tell me where your new dealer dwells, and all will be forgiven. And... perhaps..." He lifted a single golden tress, let it drift down, radiant.

Glemish swallowed at the implication and almost talked. Almost.

But he knew better than anyone what loose lips got scavvies. Like most who'd been raised with his gang, loyalty was absolute. Even with the implied promise of the woman he couldn't turn in his new dealer, his boss, Klotch.

''My father-brother.''

The terror reappeared and with it came strength, clarity. Glemish burst from his loosened restraints, flinging the chair at his enemies, smashing the light.

Hopefully breaking the needle.

His years of scavving gave Glemish near-perfect nightsight and he smashed through the nearby window, falling to freedom.