Silvana felt a growing unease as the moved about the lower hive. The impressions she gleaned were stained by the viewpoints of the inhabitants. The alley and habs were dark and forbidding, places of predation and danger. Whirls of emotion, anger, fear and dispair blighted her vision. Without even the pretense of disguise, a lot of those emotions were focused on the pair of them.

“We should see if we can find where Leopold purchased his pigments,” she said quietly. There were two many eyes upon them for her to encourage disinterest, not without lighting a psychic beacon which would blaze like a flame to any psykers in the enemy employ. Given the events in the Sarkonad house, she wasn’t willing to bet that there weren’t such individuals.

They moved quickly down the dark alleys, passing piles of refuse and shivering obscura addicts  This close to the lifts there were few gangers, but they were there. Heavily tattooed men, and a few women,   draped in colored leather and improbable piercings. They carried concealed weapons and their psychic impressions were stained with violence and death. Silvana carried the plasma gun in a duffle bag, its olive drab canvas a clash with her fine clothing. Her hand slipped beneath her jacket to the grip of her transvassuer pistol, the black rubber a comfort to her.
Infront of them a large square opened, crowded with stalls and shouting vendors. Hawkers cried the benefits of everything from stolen tanks of prometheum to cartons of black market Lho sticks. People scuttled between hundreds of vendors buying food and selling whatever they could. Silvana saw copper wire, ancient machine parts, even various hallucinogenic fungi. To a psychic eye it was a shifting colored mass but she detected no spoor of chaos.

“We need to go deeper,” she reluctantly advised.
[@POOHEAD189]