An invariably dark corner of the underhive. A place where few thread and none dwell, far from the slums and deep within a large piece of abandoned industrial territory, lost to all but squatters and squalor with the occasional underhive gang. Centuries of disrepair had reduced a great number of the factories, foundries and plants here to twisted ruins of rust, dirt, slime, grime and gravel, shrouded in an atmosphere of near complete stillness. Those which were still barely functional stood as statuette monoliths of an earlier time when they were once used to fabricate, smelt and mass produce. The many sights and smells of this forsaken place is normally enough to make even the bravest of guardsmen cringe, the deadly pollutants, raw sewage and trapped heat more of a threat than any riot or act of sabotage. Most places were too hazardous to police, let alone salvage.<br/><br/>Yet deep within the zone, as intolerable were the conditions, a faint flicker of light danced beyond the cracks of a ruined wall, beneath the massive display of cogs and rusty beams on a large concrete building. One may think this sight as another group of unfortunate souls making camp but the hint of several tiny gibbering beings hidden behind a low barrier would prove otherwise. The closer an individual would approach the louder the snickering and jabbering became, incomprehensible and untranslatable, apparent conversation in a language most crude, like a mixture of the chattering of insects, the chugging of a broken engine and the static of a vox communicae.<br/><br/>The sound of footsteps on the metal plated ground prompted the conversation to halt abruptly, followed by an uneasy silence. Without much of a warning later, the crack of a shot echoed out into the darkness, followed then by an eerie chittering laughter and the dull clang of something falling to the ground. A pair of shadowy long eared creatures appeared from behind the barrier, tiny ones about knee height and wide as they are tall. Each carried a weapon that resembled a small stubber, two handed to support the weight and length. Scampering surprisingly stealthily across open ground, the two stopped by a small alleyway, by the shadow of something much bigger than them crumpled on the floor. Holstering their weapons on their back, their now free hands very quickly began flickering about, looting their apparent fresh kill. One of them pulled out something that looked like a cylinder, holding it up into the air like it was some holy talisman, a long drone of awe and glee escaping the two creatures' pointy mouths. A short exchange of chatter later and the two scampered back from which they came, taking along the cylinder and whatever seemingly valuable items they could carry, the remains of a stun baton and what seemed like a collection of metal bits.<br/><br/>Upon entering the abandoned factory and running down what seemed like a flight of steps to the underground assembly line, the atmosphere changed the moment they reached the bottom. All around them, muted by the soundproof walls, was the foundations of what seemed like a small shanty town, lit by shoddy makeshift torches and battery lamps. Piles and piles of scrap were strewn everywhere, behind the medium sized huts, inside any holes that could allow for storage, and in almost every open room that stood agape in every corner. Besides the scrap were piles and piles of weapons in several areas, of all kinds from stubbers, lasguns, bolters, grenades, missiles, bombs and knives. Lots of them were not even functional, majority damaged in any way imaginable, split in two, cracked down the hilt, broken into several bits. Besides such would be all the workings of a community sprung by necessity and secrecy, running across the huge expanse of the floor and making full use of all the ground that was available. Even then, all the buildings and piles of scrap were very evenly spread out.<br/><br/>The two creatures weaved and bobbed through the carnage of the local population, a good number of a bigger green skinned monsters that towered over their heads, dodging flying fists, loose sharp objects and stomping feet. All around them was the grumbling and rough chatter of their greaters going about their business, a half rowdy bunch who already had a fist fight going in their midst. The one carrying the cylinder was almost crushed by the weight of a huge muscular green body, tossing itself just in time to avoid a gory death, carrying on their self appointed mission all the way to a large table located at the far end of the floor. The creatures slowed to a ginger fidgety tip toe as they approached the head of the table.<br/><br/>"M-m-message fer you, b-boss." Its short raspy voice stammered over the yammering of the crowd around them.<br/>"Yeah?" A deep booming voice replied, the single word causing them to flinch visibly, "From who?"<br/>"The-the-t-the-"<br/>"Quit muckin' about! From who, you scum suckin' git?" Anger and temper kicking into the reply, followed by a resounding smack of something big and bulky on the table.<br/>"From-the-Spikies! They'z-sendz-a-message!" The creature literally tossed the cylinder onto the table above them, speaking as fast and loud as its mouth could go, "We'z-shot-the-messenger-by-mistake! Please-dont-eat-us! Please-dont-eat-us! Please-dont-eat-us!"<br/><br/>The creature's voice trailed off as the panicky duo bolted out of sight and into the small crowd that had gathered expectantly to watch them, successfully escaping any sign of retribution. The green skinned creature at the head of the table watched them go silently as several others around him laughed heartily.<br/><br/>"Gretchin's got fast feet, dey 'ave!" One of them pounded the table, a rather fat one at that.<br/>The head did not seem very amused, hurling an arm to pound back at his laughing subordinate in the face, knocking him off his chair. "Quiet! We'z got a job to do and no more laughin', or I'll give you all da thump!"<br/>The green skins around the table fell silent, knowing their boss meant business. The one closest to his right, the one with a stick sticking out of his massive saw toothed jaw, spoke up coolly as he lit his stick with a match, "Wat da Spikies want dis time, boss?"<br/>"Letz see 'ere....." After a short fumble of the seal, he opened the message and began reading its contents.