If Only We Had the Training

The acolytes have got someone's attention, but not the good kind. Mercenaries storm the mansion the undercover acolytes are staying in, quickly sweeping the building for signs of life and exterminating it. Matthias unfortunately ventures out of his room in time to be shot at point blank range by two mercenaries coming up the stairs, Dariel's taking only seconds longer being all that saves him the same injuries.

The master of the house is ex-navy, though, and hardly ill-equipped to deal with the incursion. He has both the training and the weapons to fight back, vapourising one mercenary and, with his augmented arm, crushing the neck of another, saving Matthias from certain death. The acolytes are hardly useless either. Dariel fights back, spraying two other mercenaries with fully automatic fire from his autogun, cutting them down where they stand. But his eyes light up when he sees Strophes's plasma weapon in action.

'That is so cool,' he says, admiring the gun, continuing that 'if the mercenaries kill you that pistol can be ours', not quite respecting the hospitality already afforded to him so far.

Thankfully, Strophes is not killed, and neither are the acolytes. The mercenaries are overwhelmed, not quite expecting the level of resistance they encounter, and are either killed, seriously wounded, or routed. The acolytes tie up the surviving mercenaries and examine the clothing and weapons of the intruders, but find no distinguishing marks or any form of identification on any of the bodies.

'We have no way of finding out who they are', laments Dariel, frustrated that what could have been a promising lead becomes a dead end. There's a long pause as a sense of helplessness hangs in the room. 'Oh', he perks up, finally remembering that they are acolytes, agents of the Inquisition, 'we could interrogate them!'

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