* Sorran had just finished clearing the water from his ears when he heard them, and not a moment too soon. He quickly ducked out of the street and pressed himself against the wall of a building, seeking safety in the shadows. The patrol turned the corner a few seconds later and fanned out; Jiralhanae, let loose from their chain. Pel would never have sanctioned their use, the man was as Sangheili-purist as they came. It seemed the hierarchs were having a direct hand in matters now. The pack of Jiralhanae were fanned out, staring suspiciously through demon-red eyes at the windows of buildings, canines bared and salivating as they passed through the streets; the switching off of lights heralded their coming. "Remain indoors!" one of them growled harshly, his voice amplified through artificial means. "By the authority of the holy prophets, we are dealing with an internal threat to this station's security. No harm will come to you if you comply. Step outside and your safety cannot be guaranteed." [i]A thinly veiled threat if I've ever heard one,[/i] Sorran thought, holding his breath as the brutish patrol passed by his hiding place; some wore the angular helm of the 'stalker,' a lone red eye in the middle of the Jiralhanae forehead sweeping the dark. Thankfully, they didn't even glance in his direction, carrying straight on in their search. He wasn't going to waste any time waiting for them to find him. As soon as they'd passed a reasonable distance, he slid out from his hiding place and scuttled down the streets. Sunlight was beginning to spill onto the solar-pavement; stretches of grav-strips began to assemble themselves atop each other like a layered cake, reaching from as far down as inches from the hard surface of the ground and stacking up to twice the height of the buildings. Usually transport would be hurtling along the grav-strips in battalions, commuters heading to work or mass. But not a single roar of a thruster could he hear, no matter how hard he strained to. High Charity was a sleeping beast. Sorran could not even begin to think of the damage to the economy and structure of the station the blanketing curfew was causing, and all just to detain himself and Ahkrin. He didn't doubt the hierarchs would scuttle parts of the city just to stop them if needs be. Madness. He checked the time. Dawn would take another seven hours to complete its awakening in this slow orbit and then Jeann'ee operation would begin. After that, he had no idea what would happen. If he was going to rescue Savara, he didn't have long. It would be suicide to go in alone, though. Even with the best in cloaking technology, to get into the Janjur Qom district undetected would require skill he did not possess. Thank the gods for Ahkrin, then. Sorran was violently wrenched away from his musings as footsteps sounded just around the corner. Remembering what his brothers and Hem had taught him, he melted into the shadow of a building and waited with bated breath. A few moments later, the prowling Jiralhanae rounded the corner and walk strode straight past him; the red beam embedded within its helm swept the area ahead wildly, the beast's claws fully extended; Sorran could practically smell the pheremones and adrenaline drip from the Jiralhanae as it pursued the scent it had picked up somehow. Jiralhanae could be dogmatic when they picked up the trail of their prey, even to the extent of leaving the pack's safety, as seemed to be the case here. Sorran moved up behind him, crouched and minimising the noise he made as his feet padded through the artificial turf of someone's small garden. With a deadly whisper he drew out his knife and prepared to drive it into the Jiralhanae's turned neck. [i]Snap![/i] The branch broke under his foot, clean in two. Sorran cursed himself for not having noticed it, but couldn't berate himself for long. The Jiralhanae stalker turned sharply, a feral gasp shot out into the cold and recognition flashed in the eyes which hung beneath the rim of its helm. The stalker brought up its gun, a monstrous work encapsulated by a nexus of blades, each stained with reds and purples and greens and blues. The Jiralhanae roared defiantly. Sorran moved into action before it could do so again. He launched his right leg up at the left hand of the Jiralhanae, sending the barbaric weapon spiralling out of its hand; the blades of the weapon burrowed into a nearby wall. The stalker glanced at it for a second, growling with rage. It charged, taking Sorran by surprise. He felt the full weight of the Jiralhanae smash into him, nearly ending the fight there and then. Somehow he managed to maintain his balance, although found himself several metres from where he had been and every bone in his body ached. Before Sorran could clear the concussion from his sight, he heard the Jiralhanae growl and charge again. He acted on instinct, taking a graceful leap to the side and firing out an arm. His hand caught the rushing Jiralhanae by the throat as it lumbered as fast as a speeding ghost, and Sorran felt his arm threaten to snap in that split second. He managed to spin and turn the stalker's own weight against it, slamming the back of its head down onto the ground. Sorran leapt onto the Jiralhanae, burrowing a screaming arm into the impossibly thick neck and fighting to manipulate the writhing mass of muscle and strength into a lock. Finally he had the Jiralhanae pinned to the floor; it thrashed and kicked and Sorran's joints and ligaments shrieked in protest, but he held tight even as his hand stretched to his belt, reaching. He drove his hand down to the hulking chest of the brute. The Jiralhanae made one final effort and managed to throw Sorran off, sending him hurtling to the ground where he rolled again and again. Sorran dimly looked up and saw the Jiralhanae tower over him, victory raging about its dilated eyes. It brought up a hand, prepared to bring it crashing down. Then the Jiralhanae realised what was embedded in its chest, and screamed with terror. The beast clawed at the energy sword in panic, dismembering its fingers in the process; they fell to the floor with heavy thuds, sizzling. The Jiralhanae followed soon after, going down with a final gargle as blood gushed from its throat like a geyser. Sorran slowly brought himself up to his feet, reaching into the pouch on his side and drawing out a small syringe. He jabbed the healing-agent into the artery hidden beneath his bloody thigh, relief washing over him like sunshine as the cool liquid littered with medical-nanites fell through his system. He stumbled at first, then began to walk with more confidence towards the charred corpse of the Jiralhanae; the stench of its meat hung in the air, and Sorran fought to keep down bile. He grabbed the hilt of his sword and his index finger instinctively found the rune he searched for; immediately the plasma of the weapon retracted, and the cold blue glow fled. He sat then for several minutes by the dead Jiralhanae, knowing he should have ran in case another had heard the roars. As the adrenaline faded from his system, he reached down over the body and pulled away the fearsome mask of the stalker from the Jiralhanae's head. Sorran saw then not an enemy or a monster, but a person. The Jiralhanae's eyes were plastered with the fear that only those moments from death could ever know, blood staining his jaw and tears dry around his eyes. His face was death. "May you find your journey," Sorran uttered sadly over the corpse, aware of the irony as he spoke the words. He let the energy sword hang again from his waist, and walked away from the body of the Jiralhanae. The last of his kind he had killed had been on Eridanus II. Back then their kind had seemed so unstoppable, and Sorran had remembered the intense fear he'd felt even as he'd moved to stab... he struggled for the name. Hestaphus. Yes, that had been it. Even when about to stab Hestaphus in cold blood to save the human child the Jiralhanae threatened, every brain cell Sorran owned had been telling him not to; not out of logic or honour, but fear. Now when he thought of a hostile Jiralhanae, he just thought of another potential body at his feet. Hem had turned him into a killer, and Sorran somewhat resented that. But had he not, Sorran would be the one with terror in dead eyes stained with tears and blood coating his jaw like a layer of horrific stubble. For that, he thanked Hem, wherever his mentor was now. He hoped Hem had not hated him as he died, and knew he would never be at peace with that worry. And now Jajab dead, too. He swore then before whatever gods were watching from their aloof place in the heavens that their sacrifices would not be in vain. Somehow and some way, he and Ahkrin would triumph over the adversity and escape High Charity to return another day and change the worlds. But as grand a motivation as that was, if Savara died he knew even it would cease to hold meaning for him. Engaging his active camouflage, Sorran swiftly followed the streets and headed in the direction of Jeann'ee's home in pursuit of Ahkrin. A Jiralhanae Sorran might be able to kill, but he knew he stood no chance against all the might of Pel's battalions alone.