For the entrance to the base of underground criminal syndicate spanning across all the darkest and most dangerous areas of High Charity and then some, it was a rather unassuming one. A simple, cheap metallic shutter at the end of an alleyway, wedged between two waste disposal units. "I haven't been here in years," Ahkrin breathed with trepidation as he eyed the door. "Back when I was a hired assassin, I worked with these people closely. I'm fairly sure the man in charge now is a friend." [i]Good to hear it,[/i] Sorran thought, feeling a small smattering of relief wash over him. Ahkrin reached out a hand, and knocked firmly on the door three times before shrugging. "Of course, there was the incident with his sister. But I don't think he ever found out about that. Not so sure about that time with his cousin, though in my defence I can barely remember [i]that[/i] affair." Although on any other day tales of his friend's colourful past would have brought out a smile in him, right now all Sorran did was check his sword's location on his person. Before he could so much as voice his uncertainty, a small shutter embedded in the door swung open. It was all very primitive. Two red eyes stared through. "What?" the kig-yar demanded rudely, his pronunciation a little off. Ahkrin reached up to his left wrist, and pulled back a sleeve ever so slightly. A tattoo revealed itself, etched deep into his skin. After a single glance the kig-yar slammed the shutter close and Sorran could hear chains and bolts being hastily undone on the other side. Noting Sorran's expression, Ahkrin explained. "They don't like to draw attention to themselves, hence the old technology. A bit redundant; every constabulary on this station knows this place is here, they're just smart enough to stay away." "What's with the tattoo?" "It's a glyph from an old kig-yar tongue, shows them who I am. There's no direct translation, but it basically means... well, death." "Of course it does," Sorran muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. Finally the door swung open, and a cold light spilled out into the darkness. He felt Ahkrin's hands pushing him inside, and then the hatch closed behind them. "Out of one fire and into another," Ahkrin chuckled, staring around the room they'd been ushered into. It was dimly lit, with nothing remarkable except a flight of hard-light stairs leading down a passage-way. An ominous bloodstain carpeted the floor. "That was a very old mark, Sangheili," the kig-yar doorman commented, skulking around them distrustfully. "Who are you?" "Ahkrin Descol'ee!" a new voice boomed out, deep and full of memory. Sorran's head snapped to the staircase, where he saw a large Sangheili coming into view flanked by a Mglekgolo. He noticed the creature wore its assault cannon; the beast would never fire such a powerful weapon inside, but as a show of force it was effective. "Jeann'ee," Ahkrin greeted back with little of the gusto of his old acquaintance. "It's been a while. I find myself in the unpleasant position of asking for your help. This is Sorran, he's with me. We need somewhere to hide." Jeann'ee sized them both up, his eyes settling on Sorran and seeming unnerved by what he saw, as if what Sorran knew emanated from his very being like some sort of unwanted aura. "Of course, anything for an old friend," Jeann'ee affirmed, taking each of their hands and sealing the deal. "Well met, Sorran. Any friend of Descol'ee's is a potential thorn in my side to watch." Sorran laughed at what he hoped was a joke. No smile was returned. "Hide from who, may I ask?" Jeann'ee pressed. "The Covenant," Ahkrin replied matter-of-factly, and Sorran nearly did a double take. You didn't just casually drop the fact that the Covenant empire was after you in its capital city. All the answer seemed to do was make Jeann'ee happier, though. "You're running from the same Covenant you left us for, Descol'ee? In High Charity, no less. There must be a good story behind that. But I can see you're tired; we'll sit down and enjoy some drinks my people will manage without me for a few hours. Oh, but first... Descol'ee?" "Yes?" Ahkrin asked automatically, turning to face Jeann'ee-- Looking up just in time to see the larger man's fist hurtling towards his face. Ahkrin was bowled clean over, falling onto his behind with a loud thump. "You never wrote my sister," Jeann'ee explained to Ahkrin gravely, before turning around and heading back down the stairs, motioning for them to follow. Sorran reached down to help Ahkrin up, wondering how many times his friend had been beaten about in the past twenty-four hours. "I probably deserved that," Ahkrin grumbled as he hobbled after Jeann'ee. * "What's the meaning of this?" Zharn demanded angrily. "I am a fleetmaster, and you will treat me as such. How dare you associate me with heretics; I am and have always been a loyal servant of the Covenant." Orpheus was moving closer as Zharn said this. "Stop or be slain, Jiralhanae," the Light of Helios snapped, halting Orpheus in his tracks. Rain crashed all around them. "I have my orders, Thierr'ee. Resist and I will kill you; dead or alive is what I was told." Zharn flexed his hand, taking a deep breath. "There may be a problem there for you," he informed the Light, who smirked arrogantly and brandishing his rifle about. "What might that be?" the Light asked condescendingly, bleeding superiority. Zharn merely looked downward. The Light followed his eyes, and found the source of the fleetmaster's words. A blade, its tip mere centimetres from the Light's hip. "I'll rip out both your hearts and puncture your diaphragm before you can so much as let off one shot," Zharn threatened, bringing the sword closer to the Light of Helios so that it burnt. "Now, tell me--" [i]Crack![/i] a volley of thunder slammed down in the near distance, and for a moment Zharn was distracted. The Light took advantage of this, pushing the fleetmaster away with a snarl before drawing out his own blade. "What say you, Thierr'ee? You think you can best a Light of Helios?" "Probably not," Zharn confessed, letting his shoulders rise and fall. He raised his blade, and pointed behind the other Sangheili. "I'm not alone, though." As if realising his mistake a moment too late, the Light turned around and found the blunt side of a hammer greeting him. He dropped instantly, his face drenched with blood. "Arrogant sods, the lot of them," Zharn concluded with mirth, nodding his thanks at Orpheus. "So determined was he to prove himself a better swordsman than I that he forgot about you." "Still, this disturbs me," Orpheus mused worriedly, picking up the unconscious, heavily armoured Sangheili and throwing him over one shoulder like one might a sack of logs. "You say these guards report directly to the hierarchs? Stands to reason that the orders he spoke of came from them, then." [i]He's right. But why would the hierarchs want me captured, or dead? What heresy did was the guard speaking of? Perhaps this is related to my discovery in that cave on Eridanus II.[/i] He did not voice those thoughts aloud; he'd yet to tell the Jiralhanae of the revelations the demon had shown him on the human planet and their implications. "Tie that guard up and hide him from view," Zharn commanded, realising he was still shaking a little. "We'll head further into this district; you don't assign a Light of Helios to simple guard duty without good reason. Stay on your guard." [i]You'd better not be embroiled in this, Ahkrin.[/i] *