The squalid streets were as every other space in the under hive, speckled with obscene markings and brown, crusted spots spattered about at random. Refuse and trash were piled sometimes as high as a man while large, mutated rats and other creatures that had evolved to live down here rifled through them, sometimes scuttling over coats that held either sleeping or dead men. I was certain we, at least, wouldn't be spotted via smell as we slunk through the alleys following our quarry. 

I moved stiffly, constantly placing a reassuring hand on my belly to make certain my bindings were tight and my armor was strapped tight around me. The pain was sometimes all-encompassing, though I would never admit it. Fortunately, my movements were more of my volition than necessity, merely to keep myself from bending over or getting to comfortable in a foul position to mitigate the wear and tear on my stitches and Selencia's hard work. Emmaline sometimes glanced my way, but never said anything. Every look made me stifle a sigh, my irritation of her unfounded, at least in this regard. Perhaps it was because I still felt somewhat inexperienced myself, despite my ascension from Interrogator almost six years ago. Old grievances died hard, and while I excelled in every area Kronus had groomed me in, being the youngest of the cadre for many years had instilled in me a distaste for anytime someone fretted over me during active service, even if it was completely understandable. 

Our mark took its sweet time, the gangers harangueing one another and almost getting in a knife fight over a stimpack filled with narcotics, taking alternating routes I was certain were unnecessary. My inner compass was always keen, and Emmaline and Ortega also began to mutter on where the throne they were going to until finally they turned a corner into a wide multi-crossing street. We had just ourselves made it past the turn as the last ganger was skulking into a large, dented door of scrap metal. Outside a bouncer stood, a mutant considering he had four arms and a third eye open at the base of his neck. 

We approached lazily, passing by a beggar who assailed us with pleas for creds before I snarled his way. The poor fellow crawled off on his belly and left the lane open for us to make it to the door. 

"Never seens you scats before," The bouncer rumbled, its third eye blinking rapidly. "S'move on before toss a mad scene, ya skin?" 

I wasn't too keen on the colloquialism, and it did not seem to be the norm for the entirety of the under hive, but it was similar to other dialects in the Imperium, particularly amongst mutants. 

"Boss says s'feel moves here, just some blunts here to make slates for sally, read?" I responded in a grating, almost harsh whisper, and reached into my jacket to produce a few slates. "Give us a plate and we give the slate. Can't be runnin' off keys, ya fall, twist?"

The bouncer thought for a moment as he took the slates, his third eye halting its incessant blinking to examine the payment. There was a harsh, gutteral sound from his stomach and something roiled within there behind his stained top. If I had to guess (and hope) it was simply another, larger mouth. He gave a small "Read, read," before opening the door so we could enter. I held it open for Emmaline and once all three of us were in, our sense of smell was no longer assailed by excrement but obscura smoke and what passed for drinks in this sleazy underbar. 

"Be on the lookout, and keep your profile low," I warned them, before descending down the dark steps into a room of dancing gangers, blaring music, and flickering lights that only enhanced the darkness of the shadows.