He stalked through the corridor of the underground complex, powerful, with a ramrod-straight spine and eyes that burned with hate. Behind him, two faceless men marched, their chests marked with the insignia of the His holy inquisition, their eyepieces red in the unlit mess of this rat's home of a hideout. He took no notice of them, nor of the two others who saluted him as he stalked into the hollowed out storage unit that the resistance fighters called a mess hall. Somewhere above ground, a shell exploded. The lights flickered and some dust drizzled from the low ceiling. With the arrogance of a king, he stood before the condemned, looking at the crowd of dirty rat-men surrounded by yet more faceless inquisitorial troops. These resistance fighters, they had once been his friends. He had once been with them, and the PDF and guard units they were with. But his agenda was well beyond the battle for this petty city.

"You will talk now," he demanded, his voice stiff and unforgiving. "Where is Mhal Dannit?" He looked at these dirty men, dressed in the rags that had been flak jackets and civilian clothes. A few still wore their dented helmets. "Have you not been told?" he looked uncertainly at the men of the inquisition. "Have you not been told about the new status of Mhal Dannit?" Pause. "Well? Where is he?"

"You're wasting your time," said Lystartro as he stood to his feet. "You know, I thought you were better than this. Selling us out…" He looked at Lystartro with such intensity that even the seasoned Imperial Guardsman went silent.

"I did not…" he paused, "sell you out," he said, with emphasis on each word. "I was always with the inquisition. I was always watching and I saw heresy." He looked across the table. "And you have all committed heresy. If you do not hand over Mhal Dannit, I will see you all shot as traitors right here."

"Hey! HEY!" Lystartro took on his usual personality. "Get your face out of the mud you idiot!" he pointed at the ceiling. "The damned enemy is up there! Take your toy soldiers and march up there! We're fighting for Essendrav and you bastards are not getting in our way!" He pointed to the crowd. "What do you see? These aren't traitors, you ignorant puppet. These are humans. Humans with a home to fight for. Mhal knows something your thick-headed boss doesn't see and he's going to kill it for us!"

"No," he replied to Lystartro. "You are following a rambling heretic." He paused. "You idiotic...blank as a grox." He looked across the table to the others. "Tell me…"

"Don't you ignore me. Get your guns the hell upstairs and start killing the real enemy! You can't arrest us!" Lystartro protested. Any other man would have shivered from his tone alone, nevermind Lystartro's huge size and fists that could powder stone. Not this inquisitorial man.

"Can I not?" In a flash, the man drew his laspistol. Five shots threw Lystartro against the table. A few men cried out in rage but the guns of the inquisitorial troops kept them from retaliating.

"Traitor!"

"Undercover trash!"

"We should have smelt the stink of treachery on you!" These words only made him smile.

"Where is the heretic Mhal Dannit?" he asked coldly and calmly. He waited. "Men!" he was addressing his own, "kill…"

"Wait!" someone stood up. He turned his laspistol on this man, this thin, wiry bearded resistance fighter with a long coat. "I…we can talk about this." Lystartro cursed, spitting out blood.

"Emperor…curse…you…" Lystartro gasped to the man he used to call his friend. He could see the hate in Lystartro's eyes. The hate of a man betrayed. "I…hope…you…die…"

"You first." He shot Lystartro in the head, killing him instantly. The whole room erupted. Resistance fighters stood up, but were beat down and led out. Only the bearded one did nothing. He approached the resistance fighter and offered him a tobacco stick. The bearded man took it in his mouth but did not light it.

"Now," he asked the bearded man as the last of the traitors were led out. Lystartro lay where he fell, eyes still open. "What happened? Start from the beginning."

…

Earlier…

Cav lay awake in his humid bunkroom, waiting for wakeup call to be announced. In the darkness of his bunkroom, he could hear the other volunteers sleeping, snoring like they were trying to wake him up. Given the noise, he wondered if it was they who'd woken him with their nasal symphony. He wasn't tired and his sixth sense told him it was too early to fall asleep again. So he lay on his side and worried about the coming day. The day they shipped out. The day this pathetic unit of bedwetting scum, so the sergeant like to call them, would ship out to Essendrav proper.

His young heart was light with fear. His brother had made soldiering look so easy. His father too, and his uncles and grandfather. It was all because of them. If Cav didn't become a soldier, he would be the first man in his family to live life as a civilian in nine generations. The first man in this proud tradition, Cav's ancestor, fought next to Saint Erson himself. Cav wouldn't be the one to break this tradition. Of course, following it was even harder. In the dark, where it was easy to think, he wondered for the thousandth time if he would see his father or brother in Essendrav. Emperor willing he would, providing they weren't killed…

BLANG! The alarm went off and the lights went on.

"UP! UP!" the roaring sergeant stomped through the bunkroom, boxing boys in the ear to wake them. "Get your sorry hides the hell up!" Cav was out of his bunk before the sergeant could get to him. He made his bed in record time and stood at attention while everyone else around him struggled awake.

In his sleeveless bedtime shirt, Cav's clan tattoo could be seen on his shoulder. It was a tough looking symbol, of a shining angel rising over a mountain, a spear in hand. A tough symbol for an eighteen-year old boy like him. He'd never seen combat and the only gun he'd ever fired was a training…

OOF! The sergeant had whacked his ear.

"Stop slouching, strawhead!" the burly sergeant barked. Well, It wasn't fair to single himself out. They were all boys. Everyone here was his age. Officially, they were the 89th Erson City PDF Volunteers. To the PDF regulars and the offworlders who'd come to their aid, they and every volunteers unit like them, they were the 0th Shotstoppers.

Cav didn't know it, but in less than a month, over half the boys with him in that bunkroom would be dead.