# metropolis



## commissar gaunt (Jan 22, 2008)

1​Metropolis​The acid rain was sheeting down as Ignix Keyes slammed his back against the peeling Ferrocrete wall of the ally, it had once been an olive green colour but years of Thracian Primaris’ harsh weather had stripped the paint from the walls and left just peeling flakes. He was alone but no one short of an Arbites in full combat gear would dare venture out into a rainstorm on Thracian. From orbit Thracian was an oozing cataracted eye against the black vastness of the void, it was a wonder what Imperial technology and an ignorant, greedy planetary government could do. In a few decades the citizens would have to all retreat into the planet’s vast hives, the air just wouldn’t be breathable, not that many lived outside them anyway. The sound of the Arbites speeder’s wailing siren brought him sharply back to earth. Stupid! He had allowed them to catch up with him; he staggered to his feet with a grunt, clutching the bloodied stump of his left arm tight to his body. He began to run.
The sound of the speeder grew louder; they’d obviously got a fix on his heat signature. He was dead if he didn’t get into cover, and soon. He’d already seen what their combat shotguns could do.
He stopped dead, five Arbites in full combat armour, visors down, stormed around the corner and the barrels of their raised shotguns didn’t look too friendly. “Now lads,” he said tentatively, well he would have if his voice hadn’t been projected through a cheap medicae voice box, his had been taken from him years before. Another by-product of Thracian’s climate the second biggest killer on Thracian, after epidermal cancer, was infection of the lungs and larynx. So when he spoke all that came out was a flat monotone.
“Shut it! On the ground, now!” roared Arbites one, his voice amplified by his helmet speakers. This was it, he was dead, and if they found the obscura in his breast pocket he was dead. He was well aware of the punishment for possession of prohibited narcotics, if he was lucky they would lock him in the cells for a couple of months, if he wasn’t they would simply shoot him there and then. 
Then he arrived. He was Chastener Fischig, the most hard-line enforcer this side of a space marine chaplain. That was it he was dead, Ignix Keyes .689 – .712 rest in frigging peace.
Then something utterly unexpected happened, he proffered a hand and said in his suitably gravelly tones “Hello Ignix, let’s have a conversation.” 
The speeder roared away, but this time Ignix wasn’t being hunted by it, he was riding in it with a myriad of micro-servitors disinfecting and sealing his wounds. 
As the speeder began its final run before touching down inside the matt-black walls of the Arbites courthouse as the crenulated central tower, swathed in ornate carvings of Imperial saints and at the very top were four massive statues of the Emperor of all Mankind set into alcoves in the black stonework . The tower quickly rose up to meet them as the pilot pulled a sharp turn and neatly brought the speeder to rest upon the landing pad. Ignix waved the micro servitors away from his arm; they flew back into their stowage rack buzzing angrily. 
As he unbuckled his safety harness and jumped down from the speeder he was immediately met with a massive sense of unease, at least fifty black armoured figures patrolled the walls and compound in pairs and threes, all were heavily armed with shotguns slung over their shoulders or cradled in heavily muscled arms and vicious-looking Hi-cal pistols at their hips. And several carried bulky drum-fed grenade launchers. These were people you didn’t mess with.
Also amongst the officers were those off duty, Arbites officers were recruited at extremely young ages from off world and never ventured out of the compound except on official business, they ate slept and spent all of their recreation time in the compound, they still wore brown two piece uniforms and shallow grey caps, with a gold Imperial Aquila badge pinned to the front, on their neatly shaven heads. Although, he couldn’t help noticing that their uniforms had armour plating sewn into the fabric, and they still wore their side arms, obviously they were never truly off duty. He was seriously unnerved by now. The pilot gestured for Ignix to follow him into one of the black armoured buildings. 
Two massive Arbitrators stood guard over the entrance to the building, both wielding impressive-looking plasma weapons, Ignix had only ever heard tell of plasma weapons as whispers and rumours from people who knew off world traders, they were massively rare and the cult mechanicus kept the secrets of their manufacture to their most trusted servants. They were rarely even given to the Imperial guard, and in all fairness they were the best of the best. 
As they entered the building Ignix was hit by a sensation he hadn’t felt before, he was breathing clean air, the structure obviously had air scrubbers to remove the petrochemical fumes and harmful pollutants. It tasted sweeter than anything he’d ever tasted. The pilot sharply jabbed him in the back with his power maul, “this way.” He grunted.
The pilot stopped at a gun-metal door, the same as all the others they had passed, set in the grey corridor. “In here,” he said opening the door.
Inside was chastener Fischig in the suitably lifeless room sat behind a dark wooden desk “thank you sergeant you may leave us now. Ignix, take a seat.” 
“I have brought you here for a reason; we have been informed that you have recently been talking of things you could not possibly comprehend as an imperial citizen, so we have come to the only conclusion after weeks of surveillance. You have been touched by the warp.”
Ignix was stunned. He wasn’t a psyker, he wasn’t like the gaunt Astropaths used to send messages across the stars. He was a thirty three year old machine shop worker, not a psyker, he occasionally had a puff of obscura, but that couldn’t explain the visions. Terrible things, unimaginable things, clawing at the edges of his mind. He’d always thought it was the beginnings of a madness brought on by the drugs. “How do you know for sure?” he asked tentatively.
“We would like to confirm our theory. Will you consent to a mental probing?” 
“And if I don’t?” 
“It matters not; it’s just easier for you if you take it willingly.”

The obsidian corridor set in the bowels of the complex was dimly lit and had no way out except the way they had come. Ignix couldn’t help but notice the bulky Psi-damper units and deadlock ceramite blast shields which could be dropped into place sealing the corridor in three places. The security was immaculate, but he didn’t expect it to be anything less. A single reinforced steel door lay at the end of the corridor flanked by two burly arbitrators. Stamped on the door was the heraldic symbol of the Arbites, a winged mailed fist. As he stepped through the door he shivered, the room was a good ten degrees below. Then he saw them. There were four men in the centre of the room, twisted hunched figures three of them had had their eyes removed and had wires labelled with faded strips of paper running into the empty sockets. As weak as their bodies seemed he could see the extent of their power, tiny bolts of purple lightning flickered around their twitching heads and the ground all around them was coated in frost. These were the complex’s Astropaths, trained psykers and the most terrifying thing he had ever seen. 
+you have no reason to be afraid of us+
“Emperor preserve me!” he exclaimed making the sign of the Aquila on his chest. 
“What?” asked one of the arbitrators that had escorted him in.
“There was a voice, in my head.” He replied nervously.
+yes my “voice”, apparently quite unnerving the first time you hear it. But then you of all people surprised me in your fear of the most basic form of psychic communication, I sensed your power the minute you came into the compound. A great mind, young, but lacking in finesse. A completely untrained mind+
Then he noticed that one of the Astropaths seemed to be looking straight at him, with empty sockets. It chilled him all the way down to the bone. 
At one of the sides of the dimly lit room was a chair, bolted to the floor, with metal cuffs for hands and feet. It had a strange contraption attached to the headrest.
+please, sit+
Ignix walked over to the chair and sat down slowly. The cuffs closed over his hands and feet.
+I will not lie to you. This will be the most painful experience of your life+
Then the contraption lowered over his head and the needle-like psi-probes stabbed into the sides of his head, just behind the ears.
He screamed. A piercing inhuman scream, then he knew no more.
The following days melded into one long blurred vision of the chair, a small room with only a bed and toilet, where he ate and slept and the corridor.
Finally after what felt like an eternity of pain he was taken back into the building he had met Fischig in on that first day, which seemed like an eternity ago. He was taken through the very same door and sat in the same seat, in front of the same man.
“We did not bring you here simply because you may have psychic talents. You now have a choice Ignix. You are a psyker. And there is no trace of a taint. You may either let us signal the Inquisition, the black ships will be here to take you within a week, or we may have a place for you in the ranks of the Arbites. You will be shipped off-world in either case. But either way you would be serving the Emperor and the Imperium of Man in a great way.”
He was stunned, he thought that they were going to simply alert the Inquisition and wash their hands of him. But no there was this choice.
The Chastener leaned back in his seat and sighed.
Ignix squirmed uneasily on his seat.
“Could I have some time to think about this?” He asked in his typically flat monotone.
“Of course, you have twenty four hours, and then I shall need a decision.” The chastener replied.
Then he abruptly stood up.
“You may use my office to think, if you wish to return to your quarters use the intercom on the desk. Press one and state your request, someone will come and see you back to your quarters.” He turned to leave then faced Ignix and with a piercing stare said “please do not try to leave this office unescorted; there is a high chance that you will be shot on sight. Goodbye.” Then he turned and left, closing the door with a resounding clang behind him.
He tried to sleep but however hard he tried the question still burned in his mind, should he go to an unknown fate or cast out all that he had ever known. 
Finally he had his answer. By the Emperor he had it. 
They say the Emperor’s armies are constantly at war, but he wasn’t going to fight that war, he was going to fight the scum that made him the person that he was. The person that he loathed.

2​ Arbitrator​“You’re sure you want this?” asked the Chastener as he sternly gazed at Ignix across the desk.
“Yes.” He replied.
“You realise that this life is not an easy one, and you cannot simply walk away from it, once you take this path the only way out is death.”
“Yes I want this.”
“Then I shall signal one of the Arbites cruisers, you leave for Terrax in two days time, there your training will begin. In the mean time you will report to the quartermaster to receive your Uniform. I will escort you there myself.”
The following months slowly became a blur of ceaseless activity, primarily the beginning of his legal studies on board the navy frigate Imperator Invigilatum. One of his tasks was the study of the primary fields of the Dictatis Imperialis, the book of laws laid down by the Emperor over ten thousand years ago, and the laws that the Arbites were created to enforce. 
On the seventy second day he was summoned to the Bridge. He was informed by one of the many junior navy officers, who all seemed to look like they had put far too much starch in their uniforms, that they had just entered the Terrax low orbit docks and that he would be transported planet side as soon as they got the correct authorisation.
As the Lander descended towards the surface Ignix saw the true nature of Terrax, several massive buildings dominated the area, as they descended further he recognised the massive heraldic symbols displayed on the sides of them. The winged mailed fist of the Arbites, the laurelled skull of the feared Imperial military police, the Commissariat, and the winged skull of the Imperium’s elite soldiers, the storm troopers.
As they lined up for their final run he began to make out individuals on the ground, the arbites in their matt-black armour plate. A group of Commissar Cadets running an assault course, and a group of storm troopers participating in a firing drill, he could see the barrels of their Hellguns flaring as their shots felled numerous targets in quick succession.
This was the site of a major Schola Progenium training facility. And soon he would take his place in the massive building with the Arbites symbol. 
They touched down on top of the massive structure in a billow of dust from the thrusters. Almost immediately after the Lander’s thrusters had cycled down to a murmur the side door was slid open from the outside and a figure clad in the black armour of the Arbites stepped in. His training was about to begin.


----------



## commissar gaunt (Jan 22, 2008)

sorry its such a large block of text all comments and criticisms are very welcome

Commissar Gaunt


----------



## commissar gaunt (Jan 22, 2008)

there may be more depending on reactions to this short opening


----------



## KellysGrenadier (Jul 13, 2008)

Fascinating read. I would genuinely like to hear of his career as a psyker in the Arbites. You don't get many stories involving the Imperium's police.


----------



## officer kerky (Jun 12, 2008)

i love it. great work 
i want more sure the first chapter is a bit long but thats what i laike. somethinbg to read for a change instead of the rules
more more more


----------

