IRONHEART: The Primal Deception

Chapter 17

"Let us be frank, at least. I do not condone the criminal elements of this city, but Victorian's Enforcement arm is not a protective service. It is an occupation force. It is a military division intent only on eradicating resistance to the regime, not protecting Imperial citizens." – Lord Damian Devalere, Political Moderate

Jack almost felt relief when they came. If nothing else, the tense anxiety of the wait was over. The feeling didn't last long. In the space of a moment it had been replaced by sickening, oily fear.

"They're coming!" Gurney exclaimed as he burst through the door into the dormitory. His voice was a warbling, high-pitched yelp, barely audible as a result of the terror constricting his throat. "It's a raid! They're coming!"

Stunned silence followed for a brief second. The living quarters exploded into a panicked flurry of activity. Jack swung his legs off his bunk and grabbed the loaded coach resting next to his bed. He grimaced slightly as his booted feet connected with the floor and sent a sharp sensation of pain up to his still tender thigh. "Raid!" Jack bellowed at the top of his voice as he strode out of the door and down the bunker hallways, dragging his uncooperative leg. He had no time for injuries. "Up and about, lads!"

Fist burst out of his quarters with a shotgun in hand and his suspenders hanging half off. The boss marched purposefully up the hall toward the stairs to the common room, taking up the cry. "Raid! Stir about, you lazy sons of whores! There are coppers outside who aim to rape your corpses! Raid, damn you all!"

Jack hobbled up the stairs as quickly as his leg would allow, and helped Black Jim flip over one of the heavy wooden tables as a barricade. Fist and the others followed suit, positioning themselves to fire towards the door. More gang members poured into the common room, squeezing in behind the toppled tables. Those who arrived last moved reluctantly forward to the cover closest to the door, and the space behind the bar was quickly filled. Jim's eyes were wide and frantic to Jack's left, but the big man held steady. Jack could hear Gurney whispering fervently to his right, clutching at a small, rusty totem of a seven-pointed star that hung around his neck.

It's too late for that, Jack thought sourly. Promises to deaf gods won't save us from our sins now.

"Jack!" Morgan slid in beside him. His face was earnest but slick with panicky sweat. A shaky hand held out Jack's specialty ammunition pouch.

Celestial Steel bullets, we might need those. Jack scooped the pouch up hurriedly but glared at Morgan. No, not Morgan, he shook his head. Dasher.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed. "Get to the back exit and slip out with the rest of the pickers!"

"The back exit is covered," Dasher panted. His voice was just shy of hysteria. "There are coppers swarming the back alley!"

"Then hide in the smuggling rooms," Jack commanded desperately. "Maybe they won't find..."

"Jack, they brought Primal enforcers too!" Dasher squealed, interrupting him. "There's one in the alley! I saw him!"

Black Jim turned wide terrified eyes on them. "Oh, sh–"

The common room door exploded into a flurry of wooden slivers.

A Primal leapt through the hole, carried on wings of hellish flame. His right hand was curled into a massive fist of glowing, red stone that faded into an armored hand. A wicked, spiked mace materialized in its grip. The Primal was like something from a nightmare. Flaring yellow eyes blazed out a of twisted devil's face, and great, sharp horns rose from either side of the evil head.