The Sound of a Feather Falling

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090808necromunda02sAt the edge of hearing. Like the sound of a feather falling. In the darkness, the whisper of sound was so faint, that he almost missed it. But the darkness was his friend. It may dim the eyes, but it enhanced his hearing.

For a long moment, he heard nothing more. He fought the temptation to move. At last, patience was rewarded. There it was again. Someone was coming. Quietly, slowly, carefully.

 
 

He did not move his feet, but eased his upper body back into the deeper shadows of the doorway. Was it an advance scout? Or was it just a thief; lean and hungry in the darkness?

He could not remember when he had last eaten. Food was scarce this time of year. Laughing inwardly at the thought, for what did a year really mean anymore. It was a rather outdated concept. The apocalypse had seen to that. Time. Seasons. Years. None of it mattered anymore. Only the time to the next meal.

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In the end it was the tripwire that saved him. His unseen assailant had spotted the half hidden tripwire. As he was supposed to. The assailant avoided this trap, but unknowingly trod on the carefully prepared Azland gravel. Even assassins could not walk silently across Azland gravel.

The slightest of noises from the real trap was enough to rouse him from his musings. His finger stroked the trigger. The noise was almost deafening after the near silence. A body crashed to the ground.

The shot echoed around the corridors. And for a moment, nothing happened. Then all hell broke loose. A flasher grenade went off. And guns. Lots of guns. He was highlighted in the doorway by the flash. But he was too quick, rolling back into the darkness of the room. The doorway was filled with attempted death, its icy fingers reaching out for him.

But death was just too late to catch him. By the time the echoes died away, he was gone. Down the maze of damaged corridors, to warn the others. Their lair had at last been found.