AUTHORS NOTE: Um, hi. This is my first bit of fiction I've written for a while and it may be a little on the short side for the first few chapters. If anybody at all is reading this, comments are appreciated but not enforced. But also highly encouraged. On pain of metaphoric death.

Garrick glowered up at the crumbling ceiling, groaning under the weight of a hellish firestorm raging in the rooms above, having time to think about being knocked unconscious by a brick. That, and where all the spiders had went; he assumed they had moved on to bigger and better ceilings. Granted, at this point in time, that meant any ceiling that wasn't this one. He could think of a number of reasons why, edging most of his bets on that this particular ceiling was rapidly becoming a carpet. Quickly regaining control to his train of thought, Garrick rolled onto his side and with the grace of a dying grasshopper, dived at the door. He landed in the hallway and skidded into the wall, just in time to see his lucky flask become part of the renovations. He hurriedly pulled himself to his feet and cursed under his breath, knowing that he'd have to order a new one through the Guards' inventory, a service which found a way to put a dent in pre-mulched rations when they weren't even frozen.

Taking this into consideration, he clutched his arm that had long fallen asleep and shambled down the hall toward the stairs, stopping before the door as he remembered that the building was currently being firebombed. With the sudden rush of adrenaline, Garrick slung his lasgun over from his back and gripped it tightly with his fairly awake arm, glad that he was beginning to feel the other one. With a swift kick, the door to the stairway burst open and he was bounding down eight steps at a time, any sort of rest was not permitted on pain of a fiery crushing demise. He reached the second floor and made a great leap down the last flight, thinking he was about to be buried under the flight he'd just been down. To his surprise and great irritation, the floor above held for a good thirty seconds while he was sat against the wall, rubbing his ankles in pain. Managing to grit his teeth enough to endure, he allowed himself to be hauled out the door by Kurdin, who had been waiting for Garrick to do something stupid.

"I was wondering when you'd come down, you've been up there for an hour! I mean, did you even find it?" Kurdin asked as they left the apartment complex calmly, almost as if it wasn't falling apart. He had slung Garrick over his shoulder, making idle conversation kind of awkward.

"Yes, I probably did" Garrick replied.

"What do you mean 'probably'? You've either found it or you haven't"

"Well I wasn't awake for most of my time there, so I think it's in one of my pockets; I just haven't checked yet"

"When do you plan on checking?"

"Around the time you plan on putting me down"

"Any idea when that'll be?"

"Oh for the love of-, just drop me already!"

Kurdin stifled a chuckle as he slid Garrick off his shoulders onto a pile of rubble, spoilt for choice as they were as numerous as they were an eyesore. The frames of buildings could be seen clearly around them, pieces of concrete and loose bricks falling down, gathering into piles. There was the occasional burning waste unit, as is tradition in civil unrest. Out of all the places Garrick could have lived in, he chose to live in the one colony that started getting rowdy. Which wasn't great for him, your new town being destroyed to be made an example of was an effective way of ruining someone's birthday, not like anybody remembered on account of them being on fire or shot in the streets. Kurdin thought that Garrick would have taken it harder than he was taking it, like you'd expect a small bird to take a shotgun blast. But he was surprisingly calm about things, it might be the drowsiness or the pain of jumping down a flight of stairs and forgetting to roll, Garrick wasn't upset at all; which was call for more panic than if he was.

"Hey 'Rick?"

"Yeah?" Garrick answered.

"Don't you feel a bit mad that your rooms' been destroyed on your birthday?"

"Not really, I think I got what I needed and that's all what matters" he smiled. Garrick slid his hand into his right pocket, searched around for a bit, momentarily made the face of someone who left the oven on and then pulled out a small photograph covered in lint and dust; sighing in relief. In view were two people, a man and a woman stood outside a large building that looked similar to a monastery, huge effigies of the God-Emperor stood to the sides of a huge wooden door, torches burned above in the tower which illuminated the front of the building. Garrick could see the flames flickering so clearly; the location once lost to him was now fresh in his mind. Kurdin appeared over his shoulder, curious of the photograph.

"Who's she?" he gestured to the woman standing beside him in the photograph, she was taller than Garrick, but on the skinny side, with short red hair that brushed just past her earlobes which just barely showed underneath, in line with a sharp nose which contrasted the softness of her cheeks and eyes; fixed firmly at the camera as she saluted. They were both in uniform though you could tell hers was different, the distinct change in tone was a start. It was completely black all over; she would be invisible if not for the light behind her. She held a macabre helmet under her arm, shaped as a skull with one red eye, presumably mechanic. She was smiling a very subtle grin, almost microscopic. Garrick on the other hand had a stone face, arms behind his back and standing at attention. Which was odd, considering he barely pays attention to when he's being shot with a gun, let alone a camera.

"You could call her a friend, though she's anything but friendly" Garrick replied.

"Anything going on between you two?" Kurdin nudged his shoulder jokingly.
"Hold onto those words for when you meet her, I want to see her face when you ask"

"Alright then, what about her uniform?"

"She's in the Callidus Temple, Officio Assassinorum"

"Office assorted-… what?"

"She's an assassin"

"Don't they wear those skin-tight wetsuit thingies? She looks like she's wearing a bath robe" Kurdin sniggered.

"She didn't really like the synskin material, said it itches fierce around the-"

"Alright it's not comfortable, I get it. Isn't a robe kind of impractical for killing people in? Doesn't it get in the way?"

"Impractical, yes. Comfortable, also yes"

"I'm not getting a straight answer to this question, am I?"

"If I knew, I'd tell you. Ask her that too"

"When am I gonna meet her anyways?"

"Soon, it's where we're going next"

"Why?"

"It rhymes with 'eye mouse razz preen liar bombed'"

"Run that by me again"

"Has it not occurred to you that I'm homeless now?"

"… Oh right" Kurdin laughed, but quickly stopped himself. It wasn't in great taste. Garrick got up and stood slouched, slightly hopping from one foot to the other in a pitiful attempt to reduce the pain. As it subsided he slung his Lasgun onto his back again, forgetting why he got it out in the first place, and motioned for Kurdin to follow him through the alley.

"So what's she like?"

Garrick didn't answer; he was busy thinking about how to reach the monastery.

"Ah, I get it. You want it to be a surprise!" Kurdin proclaimed, his vast knowledge of human behaviour was startling sometimes.

"I'll tell you when I figure out how we get to her"

"Alright"

"Oh, and she's nice?" Garrick managed to make it sound like a question, indecisive as he was.

"How so? Are we talking Mother, Sister, Girlfriend or Neighbour 'nice'?"

"Somewhere around cat and vegetarian alligator"

"English please"

"I don't know! Not like a brother, but in a kind of brotherly way"

"Okay stick with Alligator, you're confusing me now"

"She's almost indescribable; it's practically in her job description, right between 'kills silently' and 'vanishing without a trace'"

"But she's not being given a personality test, she's an assassin"

"No, she's literally indescribable on the job. Callidus assassins' are shape shifter things who use that polymorphine drug thing to infiltrate the other things to kill the bad things" Garrick had not been the best at explaining people, but 'things' he could do very well.

"Anything ever come of that drug outside the job?"

"She made herself into me once, it was really surreal. She didn't put the voice on though, which was disappointing"

"Huh, figured she'd do more than impressions with that kind of technology"

"Like what?"

"Like- Leman Russ!"

"Leman who?"

Kurdin pulled Garrick back quickly behind the corner, stifling him. The tank was stopped at the exit to the alley, barrel pointing in. A man poked his head out the top of the hulking armour and looked around, yelling out the surroundings to the crew inside. The pair could hear a muffled reply from inside the shell and the lookout ducked back inside, closing the hatch behind him. They waited silently as the engine hummed to life again, a gravelly hum of a chain smoker after waking up on both wrong sides of the bed. A loud grinding noise could be heard, followed by sharp a clang of metal and a muffled cry of pain. Motors whirred and the turret sparked into action, the gun swung around to face forward to allow them movement. They drove off slowly down the road, throwing up the bricks caught in the treads and a cloud of dust behind them. Garrick pulled Kurdin's palm from his mouth and his eyes shimmered with epiphany.

"We can take the Russ!"