Chapter 3: The Shattered Prism

They took the in-hive transit system down. Way down. Past the gleaming administratum levels, past the middle-class residential zones, down through manufacturing sectors and industrial processing, down to level 573 where the laborers lived.

The descent took nearly an hour. Kiri watched the scenery change through the transit car's reinforced windows—opulence giving way to functionality, functionality giving way to bare survival. By the time they reached the lower levels, the crystal dust that coated everything had taken on a darker, grittier quality.

"Probably not great for breathing," Gen observed, pulling her rebreather into place.

The market district around level 573 was crowded despite the hour. Workers in crystal-stained clothes moved between stalls selling cheap food, cheaper alcohol, and the kind of black-market goods that kept the Imperium's wheels turning in places the Administratum preferred not to look too closely.

And there, among the market stalls and makeshift shelters, were the bars.

The Shattered Prism announced itself with a sign made from actual broken crystal—probably discards from the cutting facilities above. Light refracted through it in strange patterns that hurt to look at directly.

"Charming," Seraya muttered.

They'd changed before coming down—the forged credentials and noble attire stashed away, replaced with gear that wouldn't immediately mark them as outsiders. Kiri still carried her bolter and inferno pistol, but she'd covered them with a worn jacket. Gen had tucked away anything that screamed "administratum." Glume looked more comfortable here than he had in the office levels—this was closer to honest work, even if the people doing it were ground down by it.

Seraya hung back near the door as they entered, her force staff disguised as a walking stick.

The interior was exactly what Kiri expected: crowded, loud, smelling of cheap alcohol and cheaper lho-sticks. Miners filled most of the tables, their faces gaunt and exhausted, crystal dust glittering in their hair and on their clothes. A bartender—half-ogryn from the look of him, massive and scarred—cleaned mugs behind the bar with slow, methodical movements.

And in the back corner, in a smoke-wreathed alcove, sat someone who clearly didn't belong.

Kiri noticed him immediately. Looked like Gen did too, the way she was looking anywhere but the back corner. The man was scarred, missing fingers on one hand, wearing a necklace with a lasgun focusing crystal hanging from it like a trophy. And everyone in the bar gave him a respectful distance—the kind of space you gave someone dangerous.

Gen approached the bartender, her voice casual. "New to the area. Looking for work. What's the deal with the guy in the corner?"

The half-ogryn looked at her with slow, careful eyes. "Might need couple solars. To remember."

Gen slid two solars across the bar.

The bartender picked them up with surprising delicacy, counting them carefully. "One, two." He looked up. "That couple solars."

"It is," Gen agreed.

"You want talk to him?" The bartender gestured with his chin toward the alcove. "He local boss. Can get work, if you want." He attempted something that might have been a wink. "But gonna cost more than couple solars, I think."

"What does he like to drink?"

The bartender's face lit up. "Fancy stuff. Import. I got one bottle." He pulled it from beneath the bar—genuine Amasec, probably worth more than everything else in the bar combined. "Never sold before. Very expensive."

“How much?”

The bartender squinted at the price. “Three … three … three hundred solars.”

Gen grimaced. “I don’t…”

Kiri stepped forward and counted out three hundred solars. The bartender's eyes went wide.

"One, two, three..." He gave up after ten and just swept the coins into a pile. "Gonna be counting this long time." He handed over the bottle reverently. "You go talk. He like you."

Kiri took the bottle and nodded to Gen. Together, they approached the alcove.

The man looked up as they approached, his scarred face showing mild interest. Up close, Kiri could see the crystal on his necklace was top quality—probably worth a small fortune.

"You're not from around here," he said. Not a question. A statement.

"No," Kiri agreed. She set the bottle on the table between them. "May we sit?"

He examined the Amasec label, eyebrows rising slightly. "I've never had anyone buy me a bottle this nice. Usually have to buy them myself." His eyes tracked across both of them. "Let me guess. Nobles? No... Arbitrators? No, you're not OpSec types either." He leaned back. "Something worse."

Kiri said nothing. Let the silence stretch.

"Inquisition," he said finally. "Aren't you?"

Gen opened her mouth, but Kiri spoke first. "What makes you say that?"

"Because I know House Varindal. And I know you're not them—your credentials might say so, but nobody from Varindal would come down here and buy Amasec for a smuggler." He smiled, showing teeth. "Plus, you've got that look. The one that says you're hunting something bigger than stolen crystals."

Kiri studied him. He was smart. Dangerous. And apparently very willing to talk.

"You don't like House Varindal," she said.

"Hate them," he corrected cheerfully. "They've spent the last eight months stealing what I steal. Bad for business."

"Tell us about it," Kiri said.

“I’ll need quite a few solars to remember the details,” he said. A serpent’s grin spreading across his face.

Kiri narrowed her eyes. “I’ve heard you like Amasec,” she said. Gesturing towards the bottle.

The man chuckled and picked up the Amasec, examining it in the dim light. "This bottle will fill my gullet. It won't fill my pockets."

Kiri's jaw tightened. Her hand moved to pull back her cloak, showing the hilt of her pistol. "You like the fingers you have left?"

The man's smile didn't waver. "I've lost fingers to better threats than you, girl."

For a moment, they stared at each other. Then Kiri sighed and looked over her shoulder toward the door. She gestured for Seraya to come over.

The psyker moved away from her position by the entrance, weaving between tables with her staff in hand. As she got closer, Kiri saw it—that manic light in Seraya's eyes that appeared when she was looking forward to violence. The kind of expression that made even hardened criminals reconsider their life choices.

Seraya reached the table and, without a word, set her force staff down on the surface between them with a heavy thunk. Psychic energy crackled along its length, casting strange shadows across the smuggler's scarred face.

"You were saying?" Seraya asked pleasantly. "About pockets?"

The smuggler looked at the staff. Looked at Seraya's face. Looked at the barely-contained psychic energy dancing across the weapon.

"You know what?" he said, leaning back in his chair. "I suppose the bottle might be enough for me after all. I guess we can have a discussion."

“Wise choice,” Kiri said.

Seraya's expression shifted—just for a moment—to something that might have been disappointment. Then she pulled the staff back, still crackling softly, and remained standing beside the table.

The man cleared his throat. "So. House Varindal. Like I said, I hate them. They've been stealing what I steal—crystals, specifically. For my own profit. But they're taking them for some weird shit, and it's left nothing for me to take."

"Where are they taking them?" Kiri asked.

"Don't know exactly. But I can tell you where to find where they're staging them." He leaned forward, his earlier bravado tempered by Seraya's looming presence. "Special warehouse. Level 1,203. Separate from official operations. I've tried to get in. Lost some good men. Some bad men too. Wouldn't mind if you blew it up, killed everyone inside. I just want it gone."

"What else?" Seraya asked, her staff giving off another small crackle.

The man glanced up at her nervously. "There's people who come collect workers who ask too many questions. They smell wrong. Like perfume mixed with rot. Some kind of... cult, maybe. Don't know what kind. Just know they're not right."

Kiri thought of Amalgam Seven. Of the chaos spawn. Of the whispers that had plagued Glume for a month.

"Go on," she said.

He pulled out a data slate with slightly shaking hands and tapped a few commands. "Here. Map to the warehouse. Service entrance marked. Someone named Kael runs the operation—overseer or something. Answers to 'the Lady,' not Lord Varindal. Don't know which Lady."

Kiri took the data slate, checking the map. It looked genuine.

"One more thing," the man said, speaking a bit faster now. "The crates I saw being loaded had Imperial Munitorum seals. But those shipments aren't going anywhere near any Guard regiments." He nodded toward where Gen stood. "Your people know what that means."

Gen's face had gone carefully neutral—the expression Kiri recognized as her processing information she really didn't like.

“If you’d like, I could send you a team to help you clear the warehouse.”

"What would you want in return?” Kiri asked carefully.

The man glanced at Seraya's staff again. "A blind eye for a year or two. Let me run my operation without Inquisitorial interference. Small price for helping you shut down whatever heretical shit Varindal's doing."

Kiri glanced at Gen, then back at Seraya, who still had that faint look of disappointment at not getting to use her staff. "No."

The man seemed satisfied—and relieved. "Fair enough." He raised the Amasec bottle in salute. "Happy hunting, Inquisition. And if you change your mind about backup, just ask."

As they walked away from the table, Seraya muttered, "He gave in too quickly."

"You scared him," Gen said.

"Barely." Seraya sounded genuinely disappointed.

They left the Shattered Prism and immediately convened in a quiet alcove several levels up.

"Thoughts?" Kiri asked.

"He's a criminal," Gen said. "But his intelligence tracks with everything Hidemitsu gave us. Warehouse. Overseer Kael. The timeline matches."

"The cult," Glume said quietly. His hand unconsciously went to his back, where the scourge marks were still fresh. "Perfume and rot. That's... specific."

"I know," Kiri said. They all did. The things that didn't die when you shot them.

Gen cleared her throat. “So, the party or the warehouse?”

“Warehouse,” Seraya said quickly before anyone else could respond, her face was stony.

Kiri nodded. “She’s right. Party’s not until tomorrow. We go to the warehouse. We find evidence."

Glume shrugged.

“Okay,” Gen said, pulling out the data slate with the map. “Level 1,203. Former gem-cutting facility, now supposedly abandoned. Service entrance on the eastern side. Should take us about an hour.”