Jarrett froze in his tracks. Impossible, he thought. Walls of dirt-caked ivory towered over him. A sanitorum. Bloody handprints on the listing door and lumens crushed by the entrance. He’d seen it before. But when?

“Jarrett?”

He glanced over. Marrick was shooting him a quizzical look while scanning the street. “Why’d ya stop?”

It came to him then. Last night. His dream. After reading that bloody new deck of the Emperor’s Tarot that he’d won in that fool game. He’d seen the sanitorum and been drawn towards it like water down a drain pipe. He’d spun round and round like he was trapped in a whirlpool, until he’d heard deep throaty ork laughter and a massive explosion. Then he’d woken up.

Jarrett looked down at his feet, and then back at the sanitorum. His feet felt solid. Under his control. He could walk away. Not dragged towards it at all.

“Jarrett?” Marrick said.

Right. Marrick’s here. Jarrett grunted. We should go. Marrick stood beside him, lasgun up and scanning both directions of the street. Except I can’t. What if I did dream this? . . .  Jarrett gritted his teeth. I can’t believe I’m doing this. “I think I saw something move inside that Sanitorum,” Jarrett lied. But part of him could believe it. He needed to prove himself wrong. That there was nothing unusual about this sanitorum.

“Like what?” Marrick asked. “A sandgull?” He shook his head and spat into the dust. “Look, we gotta scout hab-block Alpha, remember? We gotta go.”

“Naw man, let’s check it out,” Jarrett pressed. “If it’s full of orks, Alpha doesn’t matter. Can’t let them be behind our line.”

“Bah.” Marrick spat into the dust. But he still followed Jarrett as Jarrett started towards the door.

They crept towards the sanitorum and slipped through the listing door. The building reeked of mold and the floors were caked with dust. They checked the nearest rooms - no sign of orks.

Even Marrick's gotta see there are no footprints. Was I wrong?

“Jarrett, this is a fool's errand. We're supposed to scout Alpha.” Marrick scrunched up his face in his best sarge impression. “‘Be back before my caffeine cools.’ Pah. She’s gonna have our hides!”

Fool's errand. The Fool, one of the cards from his reading last night, appeared unbidden in Jarrett’s mind. A young man with an acquilla and an unnerving, lopsided smile. He was pointing down.

"Let's search downstairs."

"Jarrett..."

Jarrett knew he was pushing his luck. "Let's look quick then boost.”

“I don’t –”

“Throne knows there's nothing to scout in Alpha if they're already here."

"Fine. Sarge put you in charge. You'll answer to her."

Jarrett led the way downstairs. He readjusted his grip on his gun and felt the trace of frost on his fingertips. Later he would wonder why.

They’d found stairs down and made it halfway down the basement hallway before they were finally rewarded. Emanating from a side hallway, a low growl caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand up.

Marrick nodded at him, eyes squinted and razor-sharp attention focused down the hallway. He’d heard it too. All prospect of pushing towards Alpha forgotten.

Jarrett’s heart sank. He should have been happy to have found the orks. Not overshot to Alpha with enemies behind the line. But he wasn’t. He hadn’t given up hope that his dream had been wrong until this moment. That it had all been one throne-damned coincidence. 

But that hope had deserted him. And its sudden absence felt like a 20lb weight on his chest.

They skulked down the side hallway before Jarrett peered around the corner. There were three hulking brutes – each at least twice his size.

Three, he signaled.

Marrick nodded, grinning.

Jarrett primed a frag grenade and tossed it around the corner. A deafening blast buffeted them.

Jarrett and Marrick rushed in, lasguns ready. One ork was down, its lower half missing. The second was holding its head, ichor seeping between its fingers.

The third ork saw them and charged.

"WAAAAGGHHH!"

Jarrett's shot seared a hole into the ork's gut. It didn't slow.

The legs! Jarrett lowered his aim and emptied half his clip. The ork howled but kept coming.

Jarrett dove aside just as the ork crashed by him. He scrambled up, thumbing his lasgun's power to a double charged shot. Then triple. It would empty his power cell, but he’d probably only get one chance anyway.

The ork turned to him and snarled. Spittle flying out and spattering Jarrett’s face.

Jarrett’s shot went clean through the ork's face and out the other end. The beast crumpled, dead before it hit the ground.

Jarrett spun around. The second ork was on the ground, motionless. Marrick shot Jarrett a cocky grin as he replaced his power cell.

“You’re preening,” Jarrett said, letting out the breath he’d been holding. “But don’t forget you went after the wounded one, not the one barrelling down.”

Marrick shrugged, but the grin didn’t leave his face. He shot back with an undoubtedly witty rejoinder.

But Jarrett wasn't listening. There were footprints – a lot of them. Leading to a passageway. He ran up and peered inside.

"They're in the sewers! We gotta warn Sarge!"

A shiver raced through Jarrett's body. Something was wrong. He felt a quick chill in the air.

He turned around. The first ork, the one they’d both ignored because it was missing half its body, was clutching a stikkbomb, a grin stretched across its hideous face. Clearly, its lower half was not essential.

It began to laugh. A deep throaty laugh that stretched all the way to Jarrett’s dream.

BOOM.

Jarrett dove into the sewers as the roof came raining down.

Moments passed, the stillness clouded with dust and the ringing of his ears. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet. Powered up his gun’s lumen.

And swore.

I don’t know whether I have good luck, he thought as he saw countless footprints stretching off into the blackness, or really bad.