Necromunda: The Black Hand. A Dish Best served Cold.
Nov 10, 2014 23:36:55 GMT
Darko and coolyo294 like this
Post by Lord Harrab on Nov 10, 2014 23:36:55 GMT
The Shadow darted across the manifactorum's empty and long since plundered main floor like a trick of the light, the heavy and dirty cloack it wore giving it a misshaped, almost inhuman silhouette when combined with the low crouch movement it was using to cross from darkness patch to darkness patch.
But the rife it carried held tight to shoulder, ready to snap off a shot at an unexpected target, was pristine. A solid projectile Hunting Rife, both weapon and scope showing signs of loving tampering and customization, even the Imperial Aquila was lovingly maintained from where it peeked out from a wrapping of gauze, but had its shine dulled by boot polish. reflection and light were the enemy as much as those with guns and were frequent allies.
The shadow paused at the foot of a flight of metal stairs and the light penetrate its hood. A Pale white face, and just as pale hair framed an iron mask forged to cover mouth and nose, its surface well maintained but like all metal on her person, Killshot kept its surface dull.
the sniper crept up the stairs with hardly a creak or groan from the rusting and centuries old metal, too worthless for even the scabs to bother ripping up and taking away to sell, and pushed open the door at the top with a nudge from the barrel of her rifle. Behind her, her spotter was still crossing the pools of light cast by the huge windows, lasrifle likewise ready to engage targets that probably wouldn't be there, but hey, caution never hurt. Killshot ignored her, she was irreverent to the matter at hand.
The room Killshot entered had been where the factotum scribes kept their records, rotting papers and smashed desks were all that remained of their work, once thought so important abandoned as the hive grew and the gnags took over the lower reaches.
With her spotter at her back, they cleared each room and corner of this upperfloor, communicating with hand gestures and movng slowly and silently, watching each other's blind spots without prompting. Satisifed the location was clear of any rivals or mutants taught could interfere, the two allowed themselves to relax slightly, nowin the plant chief's office, its smashed window giving them a perfect vewi of the tunnel to Gelttown.
Then they waited. The Tunnel lights flickered through several day night cycles, Killshot Glued to her scope throughout, while her spotter set up a field cooking kit, made Caffeine, smoked the occasional lho stick in the far corner away from the window and sometimes joined the sniper at her binoculars, checking ranges and practicing for the main event.
A few guilder cravans passed by as time crept on, a few scabs, some rival gangers laughing and boating over some score they'd pulled, but to all of them the window overlooking this path was a dark and empty as the others. Killshot far too focused on the real target to bother wasting bullets or this location on nameless juvies.
"Message from Siren. Target is entering the AO. Stand to." Spotter announced suddenly on the fifth day of their vigil, the only words to break the silence throughout that time. Killshot grunted, worked out the crick in her neck then gave the spotter a thumbs up, eyes still on the scope.
"target will enter LOS on our front." the spotter continued, "Initial attack was successful in driving him from cover so he will be moving fast. Standby. We have eyes on."
These last words must have been to someone else on the vox network, because with a sudden rush of hatred and anger, pain falred in her old wound as her scope was pulled as if by its own choice to rest of a small group of figures hurrying towards them at almost a sprint, pausing to fire back the way they had came, one had a heavy bolter, but it wa sthe one giving the orders kill-shot fixated on, firing his bolter one-handed at some unseen fore behind as he turned to run.
"distance to target: 800"
She adjusted her aim, dialing back the zoom with a soft, almost loving touch while inside her head anger boiled with white hot fire.
"Wind speed: Nil."
with practiced ease, she pulled back the action of the rifle, pulled out the round chambered and swapped it with one she pulled from her harness, the name "Crawn" was lovingly engraved on the shell casing
"You are weapons free. Fire at will."
Kill-shot breathed in, sliding her trigger finger inside the trigger guard like she was caressing a lover.
Bang.
Crawn Tyrus, leader of the Artic foxes reeled backwards as the bullet hit him in the chest, tearing through his flak vest and exploding out his back in a shower of gore.
With smooth moments, the sniper expelled the spent casing, and slotted in another, this one marked 'tyrus"
"Shot hit center mass. target falls to his knees."
"yes", Killshot thought, "you tear out my heart, i tear out yours"
She aimed in again. Expelled a breath. held it
Bang
"head-shot. Kill confirmed."
The fire was out now. the pain in her chest eased, Killshot felt only release as she again ejected the spent round. the fox with the Heavy weapon was screaming in denial and grief, bring the weapon around towards them. Killshot doubted she's seen where the shots had come from, and they were well outside the Heavy Bolter's effective range, but, she couldn't have the woman get lucky
Bang
"Shot hit center mass, she's down hard."
Another casing hit the stone floor, another gift for those gone.
"we've got a runner. right side."
Bang
"Shot to left shoulder. he's still mobile."
underneath her mask, Killshot frowned, that wouldn't do, she ajusted her aim, breathed in and...
Bang
"Headshot. Kill confirmed. friendlies entering LOS"
Short Fuse pulled down her hood and grinned at the Sniper, as below the firefight petered out in the roar of a heavy subber and numerous lasrifles
"an eye for a fucking eye and then some." the former gang leader said happily, punching Killshots shoulder in a friendly manner. "you did good kid, real fucking good."
Killshot smiled behind her mask and raised her fist above her head, which the image mirrored as it vanished.
When the rest of the Black hand found her, she was sat alone by her rifle, with tears working their way slowly down her grime encrusted cheeks.
On the floor the casings marked tyrus and cawn rolled together and shone in the light, their metal skins now as cold as the fires of revenge.
Well, this is what happens when i find another image of the character i used in necromunda and feel there's a plotline to finish up inside my own head canon.
Killshot never forgets!