The glow-globes set into the wall flicker in time with his breathing, as if he is one with the surrounding hive. Creepy thought; what if the hive is responding to his distress? What does that mean for us? Will I ever see her again? Everything leading up to this moment is for her . Everything !

My thoughts drift back to the last time I saw her face; the face of an angel, the eyes of a daemon. Her smile, small and self-mocking. Will I recognize her after all this time? Will she recognize me? Will she spurn me for the monster I have become? This is my greatest fear, though I dare not breathe a word of it to anyone. Who would give a **** anyway?

I focus my mind, come back to the here and now with an act of will. Needn't have bothered; nothing's changed. The prisoner is still breathing too fast, almost hyperventilating. His downcast face hiding the ruin of his eye sockets. It was the only to make him talk: I believe that, I have to believe that. Had to be done,;had to, or I'm already the monster that I fear one day becoming.

Focus man!!! Stop letting your thoughts slide! You must focus; must stay on track; must learn something worthwhile, justify the act of barbarity I committed to a fellow human being. The man's breathing is slowing, I sense his pain subsiding for the moment. Soon, clarity will fill his mind, allowing him to focus on the questions we're asking him.

My companions are arrayed around the room, waiting to begin again. We've been through seventeen of this mans co workers, loved ones, friends. Seventeen, sent to the Emperor, sacrificed so that his holy work may continue. Faith looks at me, the only one who will after the eye incident. Her eyes are accusing, damning, almost. Or is that just my own conscience finally waking up?

"What?" I say, gruffer than I had meant to, but in too foul a mood to apologise.

"I didn't think working for you would make me feel so filthy. I thought we were supposed to be the good guys."

"Who said anything about there being good guys?" I retort, "Just degrees of bastards who cause suffering to all those in their way."

At that, she storms out of the small office, muttering darkly about my parentage as she goes. I look around, at the rest of my team; they won't meet my eyes, not now, maybe never again.

I refocus on the prisoner, pushing aside all my self doubt, and look into his eyes. He's awake, fully lucid now. he'll cooperate, he doesn't want to know what else I'll tear off of his body.

"Ready to talk yet?" I ask, trying to block out the image of Faith throwing up as I tore out the first eye; it had to be done! Ihad to break him!

"What you wan'?" He slurs a little, that will be the fractured jaw.

"I want to know who sent you. I want to know why they think we are compromised. But most of all, I want to know how you found us." I demand, keeping my voice soft now, not needing to remind him of my steel.

"Who sent' me? T'Inquisition sent me. They said you were heretic scum. So they sent me." Comes the slurred, beligerent response.

I can't help but laugh at this! He actually thinks he has a chance of living through this. "We are the Inquisition fool! And you are the last of your people. We carved our way through them to get to you. The peole who sent you sent nothing but a pawn to die in their stead." I turn my back on the broken figure to see Faith reenter the room. She's changed out of the bloody overalls she was wearing; now back in her uniform, she once again reminds me of the junior Arbites officer I had contracted to help hunt down our quarry thirty two days ago. She's still pissed too.

"Do you really need to perform this charade everytime?" She growls at me. "Can't you just take the information from his mind, and leave the butchery out of it for a change?"

"I don't inflict pain because I enjoy it. I inflict pain because it opens up the recipients nueral cortex, their mind opening like a locked desk, suddenly bursting under the weight of all the things they try to hide. Once the pain becomes white noise, something in the back of his mind that he no longers registers on a conscious level, then I can begin my work. If this work is too much for you young miss, leave." I turn away, not waiting for her response. Too scared to see the look in her eyes. Too scared to see the monster which I have become.

I step forward, reaching a hand out to the prisoners face. Faith is right, the torture of this unfortunate was probably unnecessary. Maybe I do like it too much; the bitter mind taste of their agony as I search their minds for the information I need. Maybe that is why I always resort o torture now. I remember being highly repulsed by the very idea, back when I was still pure. If I was ever pure. But now, a century or more service down long dark roads, I've started too use methods I never dreamt of ever using as a young man. Time, someone once told me, is the great corruptor; for everything it touches eventually turns to rust and ****. Maybe that should be the Inquisitions new motto? 'We do as we wish, because in the end, none of it really matters.' Hhhmph. Morbid bastard that I've become, I'm actually thinking about having that tattooed onto my face. Though probably a step too far, if I'm honest with myself.

Just like tearing out a mans eyeballs, a big damned step too far. Speaking of damned, I can feel all that new knowledge stirring again. Maybe it is sentient after all? Maybe that's what's driving me to greater lengths of depravity? Or is this just the self deluded ramblings and justicications of an already damned soul, trying to keep afloat in a sea of insanity? Whatever is driving me, I still have work to do. Bearing the rosette means I don't get the right to flinch at gruesome truths; I have to face them head on, unflinching. Be willing to do what others won't. Perfom the tasks others can't. Be the monster the Archenemy fears. Else all my life was in vain; all the pain, all the suffering, the blood spilled and the souls damned. I need that book, that damned book.

As darkness falls outside of our liitle slice of hell, darkness falls inside my soul. I see it now, clearly for the first time in months, or is that years? I wasn't slowly dragged into this by association, I ran headlong into this state of true being. And now, after that epiphane, that mental lightning bolt to clear away the shackles of my mind, I can resume my works. I can start what the Emperor himself has decreed is my holy mission. The replica of the Cadian pylon is on its way through the warp already, my faithful servants of the Mystic Path have procured some more alpha plus minds to bend to this monumental task. And even now, my loyal Cherubael is gathering the Necrotuech from those xenos scum.

All things considered, today is a good day. I think I'll leave this retch alive after all. Maybe make a playmate for Cherubael. Turning on my heel, Kharnager slides effortlessly into my hands, dispatching the arbiter in one glorious stroke of black fire. Yes, today is a good day. And now, it is time the Imperium to forgot the name of Inquisitor Quixos. For now at least.