Battle Report: Kraks and Stilettos

The Bitches of Battle had received an invitation – or more accurately, a challenge – from the Entourage to follow up on a Vault lead too big to ignore. Rumour was it wasn’t a vault, but the Vault. The one that mattered. The rest were just red herrings.

The site in question lay beneath a sagging portion of the underhive ceiling, where a cluster of derelict textile manufactoria leaned against crumbling hab-stacks like old drunks at last orders. It looked like the factory walls, the habs, and the Vault itself were the only things keeping the ceiling from caving in entirely. Perfect place for a showdown.

A Cautious Approach

Both gangs advanced warily, the air crackling with tension. Missie Ellie cracked open a nearby crate and grinned – a stash of rare ammo, the good stuff. Prudent Ironfist – the squat whose nickname was earned from the opposite of cautious resource use – launched a krak grenade that sailed wide of the Vault door and boomed against distant concrete.

Some of the Escher sisters stayed back, watching the shadows behind them. In the Underhive, the danger’s just as likely to come from where you’ve been.

Carbi P attempted a grenade lob of her own, missed, and muttered curses as she rummaged around in her satchel for a fresh rack. Birdman, the Kroot blade-savant of the Entourage, lashed at the Vault with the blade affixed to his rifle, sparks flying as he hissed through clenched beak. The Vault barely noticed.

Meanwhile, Prudent Ironfist kept up the pressure, hurling kraks like they were going out of style, and began to chip away at the Vault’s reinforced doors. Beyond Say, the Escher gang Queen and most seasoned killer, closed the distance and started hacking into the Vault with her chain axe, scoring deep gouges in the steel. Lisa Left Eye stepped up, punched the Vault with bare fists, and declared it a bonding moment.

On the Entourage’s side, Ponsomby sidled up to a suspicious container. It boomed, hurling him from the gantry. He landed hard – no luck this time – and groaned, injured. The nearby Ratling, the Entourage’s newest recruit, crouched behind crates, poised to help but a heartbeat too late.

Just as Ponsomby was finding his breath, Beyond Say let out a guttural roar and dragged her embedded axe across the door. The Vault groaned and gave way, crashing open with a seismic boom.

Spyrer Business Time

The echo of the explosion had barely faded before something darker stirred. From the gloom above they arrived. Twin Orrus Spyres, Oscar and Oliver, dropped into the zone. They’d heard the crate go off and moved in like carrion hawks.

Oscar wasted no time, charging the still-reeling Ponsomby and bringing down his clawed suit-feet on the hunter.

Diligent Ironfist – cousin to Prudent and the more focused of kin – spun his plasma gun around and opened up. The first shot tore away part of Oscar’s gleaming exoskeleton; the second found flesh. The Spyrer was downed, twitching in the dust.

Unaware of his brother’s plight, Oliver advanced, firing his twin bolt launchers at an Escher Little Sister on an upper level – the shots clanged off crates as she ducked away.

The Ratling sprinted forward, found the downed Oscar, and with a snip of bolt cutters, severed his life-support feed. No movement. That was enough.

Da Brat’s Stand

Out from the shadows came Da Brat. The youngest, boldest, most recently humiliated juve in the Bitches of Battle. She needed this. She launched herself at Oliver with nothing but a stub gun, a stiletto knife, and sheer fury. Her blade struck wide. The Orrus turned, towering over her, and swiped. The claws clipped nothing but mohawk.

Again, he swung. Again, he missed.

With a roar of fury, he struck again. This time the claws found flesh. Da Brat fell. A moment later, another newly arrived juve caught a bolt round and slumped to the floor, seriously wounded.

But Da Brat had bought time. Time for Deathmaiden Lisa Left Eye to lace her dual stiletto swords with the strongest toxin her stash had. She danced in, coiled around the Orrus’s guards, and lashed him with strike after strike.

His armour turned the first flurry, but toxin works slowly. With each nick, the Spyrer grew weaker. Less responsive. And then… a gap. Lisa Left Eye slipped a blade through a vent port and twisted. The Orrus staggered, then crashed to the ground.

A Clean Break

With both Spyrers down and no will to fight further, the gangs withdrew into the Vault, their temporary alliance holding strong.

The Entourage found what they’d been looking for all along – a Cartographic Overlay that could help them navigate … assuming they ever clear their debts and retrieve their ship from impound.

The Escher gang, meanwhile, secured a cache of rare chemical compounds and injectors. These nano-meds could heal anything from bullet wounds to broken bones.

Just as they were preparing to leave, Beyond Say paused.

“Wait,” she said, her voice low and certain. “There’s something else.”

In the half-light beyond the crates, something shimmered. A dull yet reflective material, sensitive to kinetic force. It shifted as she touched it — like it knew it was being struck. If made into armour it could fight back. Bullets wouldn’t just bounce. They’d rebound.

Both gangs returned home. Victorious. But not without cost – the Vault wasn’t the only thing cracked open that day.

Ponsomby suffered a spinal injury from being curb-stomped by a Spyre. He’ll be sitting out the next battle, complaining bitterly. Da Brat died from her wounds. The gang honoured her as well as they could… for a juve. Before the smoke had even cleared from her pyre, a new recruit stepped into her boots.

When the Escher gang returned home, they found a scroll stabbed into their settlement door. Wax seal. Crimson ribbon. Knife hilt still warm. The Blood Relatives had a message:

“We don’t forget family. You took one of ours (even if he was three times removed on Aunt Hilda’s side). Pick a time. Pick a place. Pick your death.”

The Vault may be open. But the war is far from over.