Vespos' air was stagnant, almost as suffocating as the noxious atmosphere surrounding that the broken hiveworld barely managed to purify. It was an Imperial colony relegated to the ever-encroaching blackness of the galactic rim. Through fear alone, the planetary administratum kept its boot on the proverbial throat of the populace to extract its required dues from a despondent citizenry.
The uppercrust of the hive was hardly civilized, bloated with bureaucracy and corruption that reached the highest rungs of power. Vespos was dying, and beneath the crumbling facade of baroque spires and gothic skylines, the underhive a malignant disease.
Gang wars consumed entire sectors. Murder, suicide, cannibalism, rape...every manner of degeneracy was exacerbated by ravenous mobs that roamed the streets like wild dogs, culling those who refused to join their ranks. Life here was a constant cycle of suffering, where the only reward for subservience and crippling labor was a wheezing death at the hands of promethium smoke or gang brutality; never had I felt so at home.
***
I wore exile like the comforting embrace of a mother, or my closest ideation, and the pervasive darkness of Vespos' sunless underbelly complimented the ancient, scarred plating of my power armor; millennia-old servos whirred softly with every subtle movement, a quiet hum in tune with the ceaseless rasp of adamantium claws against astrogranite.
"I say we gut her," the nasally jeer of a gang youth echoed across the half-sunken structures of the ruined hab-block, "been faaaar too long since we stuck somethin'." A scraggly whelp, like a yapping Nostramon hound after a beating; turquoise markings in the heraldry of his outfit lined pallid and sinewy arms.
"Maybe after we've had some fun. We can still stick her..." Another ganger, this one a tad bit older, pushed the gaunt underling to the side. He was shaven headed, ugly, but his shoulders were broad and heavily muscled; by human standards.
Their prey was barley a bag bones, and clad in nothing more than threadbare remnants of dirty silk. She looked up from where she cowered behind an upturned slab, one hand holding on to the old wood for support as though it might offer any real protection. Her skin was dark—a native? No. Black hair clung in matted curls around narrow eyes. One pale cheek rested against rough stone and was flushed with bruises. The other bore a fresh wound, s ragged gash that wept red over delicate lips and puffy flesh that receded toward plump jawbones. She would not have made a good trophy: frail, sickly, untrained...not worth the effort.
I nearly chuckled at the thought. No one on Vespos was worth the effort. From orphan to governor. Even in my derelict power armor, diminished by time and disrepair, I was the apex predator of this fallen colony. A genehanced terror that skulked about the blackened streets; truly my father's son.
"Yeah, that could be fun." The underling grabbed at the child, blackened eyes like yawning saucers and glinting with predatory lust. The predictability of these lesser creatures never ceased to amuse. So base and trife. The prey yelped and screamed, her lungs ablaze with whatever strength she still possessed, perhaps all the strength she possessed. They laughed then, louder than before, faces twisted into savage grins as they prepared themselves for the violation, grabbing at belts and hems and buckles.
The depravity ceased once I made my presence known; a hollow shriek that split eardrums and sent a shiver down their spines. Their weapons scattered upon the ground as their heads turned in unison to search the blackness. Even in my immensity, the shadows concealed all that I wished to keep secret. Then, like the thunderclap of a raging warpstorm, adamantium claws bursts to life with maleficent tendrils of white-hot electricity. The cracked. ruby lens of my helm flared, peering deep into the souls of the gangers and their victim. The electrical energy flowed through the veins of metal and circuitry, sizzling clothes and flesh of anyone touched.
I was not like my brothers, who enjoyed toying with innocent and guilty alike in wanton displays of butchery. My futile crusade against the filth of Vespos would be never-ending. But what choice did I have? A madness consumed me to such an extent that it seeped from my every orifice and corrupted the very core of my being; the delusion of retribution merely staved my inevitable fall too savagery. Until that day, I could do naught but vent my fury, and the thrill of murder gave meaning to my existence. It merely needed direction.
A cacophony of screams, more pitiful than those of the cowering gutter filth, followed a moment later as the underlings met a fate far worse than death. They were impaled on my claws like a string of cheap sausages on a skewer, the electric current scorching the walls behind them as the superheated digits burst through synthleather and flesh like they had no substance at all. Their cries rose in pitch until their organs exploded from internal bleeding. Then they twitched in spasmodic fits before dying in short order—the pain was beyond comprehension for any mortal creature. I relished each one's last moments...until there remained only silence.
Only then did I notice her watching me with eyes that seemed to see everything that I had become. Her hands trembled uncontrollably while she sat clutching her wounded cheek with a pale hand; blood splashed between clenched fingers, painting white-blonde hair with crimson rivulets. "Who are you?" She spoke, barely above a whisper, so faintly that it took even my superhuman hearing several seconds to register what the sound meant.
"The Night."