Time had passed in the under-hive since Erika painted the corroded metal floor of the gang's fighting pit with the brains of her former rapist. She wasn't sure how much time as it was a fairly meaningless concept to most underhivers. 'day to day' survival was hard to manage when there was no natural light or functioning chrono pieces to use as reference. 

It was enough time for the skarblades to organize themselves again for another raid. It had been too long since a good fight was had and the gangers as a whole were sitting on a reserve of restless energy that threatened to spill into a larger inter-conflict if that energy wasn't given direction. So the gang was organizing beneath the gaze of their respective Skarleaders, Those merciless and callous men who served as the defacto leadership and lieutenants of the Skarblades. Each leading his own division of the gangs fighters. A petty aspiring warlord in their own rights. 

Erika passed by the Gathering band to which the man she had earlier killed had belonged. She could feel the cold dagger-like glares in her back from the other members of the blood-band. These divisions were something of a source of pride to each ganger and Skarleaders constantly competed against each other to prove they lead the fiercest and strongest group to gain the favour of the Skarblades true leadership. That impossibly musclebound he-man who first offered Erika a place within the Skarblades seemed to be what passed for a warlord amongst the skarblades, and his strange aura of dread and black charisma kept even the most hardened and duplicitous ganger in line and far from thoughts of true insubordination. One could only ascend to the position of Skarleader with his permission, and all of those men seemed to exude a lesser, but similar aura of command and barely restrained violence that their warlord did. They all also sported similar brands and strange symbols and runes carved or burned somewhere on their flesh, as if they were officer stripes which in a strange way, that was perhaps the best way for Erika to describe and comprehend them. 

By killing two of another division's numbers without retribution was starting to make them and their Skarleader look incapable and weak. While Erika's own Skarleader stood haughty and smug for having a woman with the blood of three slain men (all skarblades no less) underneath him. Her Skarleaders favour also granted her a degree of further protection from immediate retaliation on that front, Plus with the rallying to arms there was nothing her new enemies could do other than watch and wait for a future opportunity to deal with her. To attack her now would start a fight between both division's and throw this entire area into chaos and blushed before they had even moved out to attack. 

The skarblades nameless warlord overlooked all the barely organized chaos. Everywhere his gaze fell gangers would shift uncomfortably and advert their eyes, Those that attempted to meet those eyes quickly found themselves so filled with dread and self-insignificance that they could barely maintain the visual link for more than a few meagre seconds. Only the Skarleaders themselves seemed to possess the stomach and willpower to meet and hold their leaders gaze and still maintain their masks of defiance and restrained anger. 

Still barely dressed from the waste up the warlord dominated the entire atmosphere of the area despite the fact he was merely one man and standing several yards removed from the scurrying of his underlings. Gang fighters loaded poor quality bullets into bent munition clips while those crippled old and weak who served as the Skarblades unhappy slaves, too pathetic to even provide amusement in the fighting pit toiled to their miserable duties. Occasionally one would run afoul of a ganger for some perceived slight or another and be maimed further or outright killed for their transgression. Often this was followed by laughter or brawling as several men fought over whatever possessions and supplies the wretch was ferrying. A few weeks ago Erika might have been more appalled by the actions of this gang, which were callous in the extreme even by under-hive standards. But she was already numb to the idea of their cruelty, and unwilling to expend effort and tears for those slaves obviously incapable of taking care of themselves. Already she had grown incapable of giving two shits about those beneath her own station in the gang.

The mood in the air was thick with excitement and fear. This wasn't just another fight they were preparing for against another batch of under-hive ganger scum. This was going to be a proper bout of bloodshed! The adeptus arbites themselves were on their way. Specifically to fight the skarblades on their own turf. No one was sure exactly how their warlord knew this was going to happen. But none dared to question him or disobey his command to ready arms. This was the closest to an open state of warfare an under-hive gang could ever rally themselves into. Some were clearly afraid at the thought of the battle to come. Fighting gangers was one thing, but the arbiters were actual killers. Sure they could die like any man. But they always killed at least four times their number before they fell. With their fancy armour and their well-kept weapons. The only consolation to actually surviving a fight with an arbiter was scavenging the corpses afterwards Assuming you were on the winning side when the cancerous dust settled of course. Even Erika wasn't thrilled at the prospect of the fight to come but there was no way to avoid it without being executed by her own Skarleader. 

Right now the gang was doing the only thing they could. Arming themselves and waiting. There were not words of inspiration from their glorious and terrifying leader. Only barked orders from the respective Skarleaders to separate and take positions. If the arbiters were going to fight on the skarblades own turf then the skarblades were going to work that advantage the every possible degree they could. Entire groups of fighters disappeared into the darkness of poorly lit or semi collapsed tunnels. What few truly heavy weapons and ordnance the gang had were either planted at choke points or positioned to be the first to open fire when the trucks appeared. 

Erika was hiding beside a dozen others of her division. Pressed against a damp tunnel wall in near total darkness as she waited what seemed like an eternity for someone, anyone to make an appearance. All around her she heard the telltale sounds of nervous fingers fiddling with the grip of their blades and clubs or thumbing fire selectors and safeties of their firearms. 

After a grueling perceived eternity there was finally a rumbling. It wasn't so much as heard but felt in the ground and the walls. The way puddles of green water rippled and half-broken light fixture sputtered. One fell down altogether. Crashing against the floor as the vibration broke its severely rusted screws holding it aloft. 

Collectively every man in Erika's group sucked in a breath as the vibrations turned to distant noise and noise turned into the thunder of well tuned engines. Each man and woman held those breaths, waiting for the first of the crude explosives planted in one of the several possible tunnels leading to this hideout, to detonate and signal the ambush.