Witch Hunter

Her hand came up sharply, in a halting gesture and her company froze. Their breath misting before them in the damp through fare, weapons gripped tightly across their chests and eyes scanning the grim surrounds. Grey towers of granite and plas-crete soared above their heads, their apex's seeming to taper to a single point, framed in the fading, purple twilight. Yet even this inexhaustible light source failed to illuminate their passage, for here in the under hive, no light pierced the veil of shadow. Stagnant puddles of brackish water riddled the pitted and scarred pavement and the structures that bordered their path were either plastered in a thick layer of faded  recruitment posters and various promotional materials, or simply vandalized in the foulest manner.
An echo reverberated off of the densely packed walls, increasing in volume with each passing moment until the slight skittering of hurried steps became booming waves of thunder in their ears. The company looked to their leader, augmented eyes or night vision lenses glinting in the abyss; a collection of pale blues and greens that spotlighted her features. Hazel eyes narrowed at the sound and thin lips were pulled into a taught line. A curt nod was given and they stealthily continued their pursuit with renewed vigour and purpose.
Their quarry was becoming reckless in his haste, splashing through puddles and knocking over abandoned machinery, the clamour rising to an almighty cacophony that betrayed his position to the intrepid hunters. But the echoes were becoming more and more frequent, new ones occurring before the previous had dissipated, the overlapping reverberations causing the hunting party some disorientation. The leader paused and bent to the ground, placing an elegantly gloved hand to the grime encrusted street. She awaited the vibrations of the echoes as they roared down the tunnels ahead. She silently counted the seconds between them and after a moment, she smiled. Six seconds, precisely. These noises were too regular, their prey was deliberately trying to throw off his would be captors. 'Well,' she mused, 'you'll have to try a damn sight better than that.' She snapped her fingers, "luminators." The narrow passage was instantly pierced by four cones of soft, yellow light. She gestured to one of her compatriots who hovered over to her position, the gravitic pulsators implanted within his heels carrying him effortlessly across the space. As he drew nearer he entered one of the shafts of light: He was garbed in a robe of crimson, a cluttered belt of tattered leather hung loosely at his waist and his features were concealed by a weather beaten hood. He gave a shallow bow to his mistress and she took the hint. "Cast a close range vox sweep for heat signatures," she saw in his posture that he was about to reply and cut him off, "this deep in to the under hive you'll only find us and him." She spat the last word, as if it pained her to give it voice. The robed Adept simply nodded and his hands disappeared into the folds of his robes, various clicks, whirrs and other such mechanical chatter issued from his torso until two globes of bright green radiated within his hood. A three dimensional, topographic map of the under hive was projected from his augmented eyes and indicator icons sprang up, blue icons denoting their own heat signatures and green to any nearby cadavers or rodent life. But the team leader was not interested in such insignificant details, all she was interested in, was her target. Then like a beacon in the darkness, a bright red icon sprang up in the display, "Auspex sweep completed," the Adept intoned flatly. "Target located." The woman grinned wolfishly. "He's not three yards from our current position, we have him now!" She snapped her fingers and they were once again plunged into darkness, sprinting once more into the gloom.