The subject was chained to the floor in a disused industrial waste plant. Years of negilence had not left the building in a pretty condition. Vile, viscous liquid seeped in through cracks in the walls, congealing in the corners, bubbling occasionaly. The only light came from a Chronometer hung from the ceiling by a thin strand of string. The time was 7, the night cycle was due to begin in half an hour.
Several figures sttod around the subject, 4 in total. They kept their distance, watching and waiting. The subject had to crack eventually. One of the figures coughed quietly, the subjects eyes locked onto him, trying to place the sound in the darkness.
The subject in question was one Ignace Hurft, hired muscle. His lanky greasy hair had been dyed midnight blue, the dye was starting to fade at the roots. His young face was upset by a large laceration running from his cheekbone to his jaw, he hadn’t had that wound when he woke up that morning. It would get infected soon, he was sure, the open wound wouldn’t take kindly to the filthy company it was holding. He would wriggle futiley now and then, his jacket was grimey and almost as filthy as the room around it, an Adeptus Astropathicus logo was visible beneath the grime, a useful cover the figures in the dark assumed.
“What do you want?” Ignace shouted, again. In his mind, he could feel a slight trembling in the warp, a subtle undertone, he thought if one of the masked fiigues came close enough, he could envelope them, hold them there and make his escape. Unluckily for Ignace, the masked figures in the dark were no-ones fool. They wouldn’t go near an untrained Gamma class psyker.
“You know what we want” one of them replied. A sweet voice, female and unnacustomed to the current situation, that voice should be up in the high spires, serving cocktails and citrus to the hive lords, not chaining up rogue psykers in the Underhive. One of the figures moved forewards, revealing itself. He was a small figure, dwarfed by the Magistratum class carpace armour he wore,
“Mr Hurft, you know full well what we want, we know you visited The Shady Saloon in the J stacks at 1200 hours standard today. We know you passed on instructions to an as yet unspecified figure, concerning a major trade of Spook. We want the person you traded with, tell us that, and everything else you know, and you are free to leave.” The voice was harsh and grated on the ears, the voxsponder robbed the voice of all emotion. Ignace may as well have been told his heart was about to fail and the only chance of Survival was to go under the knife, here and now, with no-one but a drunkard to complete the surgery. At least then, he would have had an Emperor-damned chance!
“Haha, sure. So, I’ll tell you what I know, and you’ll just let me walk away? Free of charges? No hard feelings and all that? Sure thing buddy. How about we change the deal? I’ll tell you everything I’m capable of, hows that?”
The figure in the suit of armour stood still, immobile. Ignace awaited the response, slightly scared but also growing confident, he could feel the warp now, it was rippling, something somewhere had changed, the full impact of the ripple would reach him soon. Ignace was sure he would be able to use it to his advantage.
“We know what you’re capable of scum. We’ve seen the records, we’ve seen your victims, all of them. They’re insane, locked up in an asylum, right where your Hell-spawned abilities cannot harm them. So again, we’re asking. Who did you meet? How much was traded?”

“I told you dammit! Ask me something I can answer, something that won’t **** me for telling!”
“You’re damned regardless, we’re offering you salvation, the chance to redeem yourself before the eyes of the Benevolent Emperor.”
Ignace chuckeled quietly, the wave was almost upon him. He flexed his muscles slightly, imagining them swollen, stronger, the bands of muscle thickened a hundred-fold. Something capable of blasting through his **** Nullifying manacles. Anything, a wave of power? A self expressed bomb, blowing his captives away? Yes...He could pull that off.
“Now, one more time, who did you meet?”
NOW! Ignace let out a horrific howl, the grimy windows shattered, large fissures opened in the concrete floors, the ooze seeping away. The cloaked figures stumbled, taken unaware by his power. One more time, one more surge.
Ignace let out a rasp, it echoed around the room, then he exploded.
“God Emperor above!” A figure swore, loudly, trying to disentangle the remains of Ignace’s spine and intestines from him.
“Idiot, we needed him. Kyr-God Emperor!”
The intestines had constricted, pressing themselves against the figures flesh, tightening constantly.
“H...Agh!! Argh, Damm-Hel-Get the sonuvvabi-off me!” The ‘victim screamed, panic alive in his voice.
Two of the figures ran foreward, one held a large knife, intent on severing the unholy vermin from her comrade.
He fell to the floor, spasming violently as the intestine drew blood, the severed spine was digging into his flesh, blood geysered across the room, painting the far wall red. With a gasp, he died.
“****, Kyren, can you hear me?” A woman pressed hard against his chest, pushing more blood out of the huge gash in his stomach.
“Kyren? ****, no pulse, no heartbeat. He’s gone, supping with the emperor.”
The other 3 figures turned away, the man in the carpace armour delivered a violent kick to a chunk of meat laying on the floor.
“Dammit, we learnt nothing, and a friend died. The master won’t be pleased.”
Kyren stirred, his arm falling limply to the floor, he coughed.
All 3 figures turned, the woman in her lithe armoured bodyglove knelt down beside him, her hand on his head.
“He’s...he’s alive? Back from the dead, sent by the emperor!” She let out a chuckle, helping her friend up.

****, this wasn’t going well. Ignace could tell that, they hadn’t left, and the ripple had all but passed. Just a few flickers, then he’d be reduced to making flashing lights and ghostly winds. He had to act now! The woman, she stood over him, she’d removed her mask. He could see her throat, the veins and arteries stood prominent to him. Easy to see, easier to rip out.
“Kyran, what happened? Did you see him? The emperor? Were you sent back to aid us? Were yo-“
There was a wet ripping sound. The tightly clad assassin was sent hurtling across the room, she smashed into the rockrete walls, leaving a deep mark, as she slid downwards, her spine now pulverised, and blood flowing freely from the gaping hole in her throat.
“Hellfire! Deamons!” The man in the armour cursed, he pulled out an autopistol and took aim, the final figure stood there, flabbergasted. His augmetic eyes cracked, the shards of glass tumbling to the floor. He stumbled about wildly, utterly blind, his data slate and auto quill fell to the floor.
Ignace rose, the auto shots thumbed against his abdomen, they would have torn through his spine. The should have, but still grasping the ripple of warp energy, Ignace waved a hand at the shots, the bullets shattered in mid air. He charged foreward, barreling into the panicked Adept. He picked him by his throat, turned and hurled him into the reloading Arbiter.
Then, he ran for the door.
The man cursed as the Adept crashed into him, his augmetic features increased his weight significantly, and the Arbitrator was left helpless.
“The Inquisition will show no Mercy to it’s Enemies Dog! Run now, we’ll find you soon enough!”

****, the Inquisition! Dammit, he was screwed. He may as well have let them put a shot in his brain, when the inquisition caught up with him... His legs slackened, his will to run was subsiding, the ripple had passed. Now, he was just a part time drug dealer who lived for Spook and the thrills it bought. And he had killed 3 of the Inquisitions people, he might as well kill himself now.
Hell, it’d be better than them catching him.

Just a quick idea, hope you like it