This is just the prologue for the story, I'll try to make the following chapters longer, and you know... make more stuff happening. Again, English is not my first language, please excuse whatever horrible mistakes I've made.

Chapter I

Prologue

Several hands carried him, his feet only occasionally sliding over the white tiled floor beneath him. Bright neon light stabbed his eyes as soon as he tried to open them, and he groaned disoriented, deciding to keep them closed instead. His view was blurred anyway, so what was the point?

"Put him on the bed over there." He heard a distant female voice say, shortly before another pair of hands grabbed him by his legs, and he was lifted onto a soft mattress. Well, maybe it was soft compared to the pub's floor. Right the pub. That's where he'd been last, so… where was he now? Prison; wouldn't be the first time. His jaw hurt like hell, his nose felt somewhat dull. Damn, did he get into a fight again? He involuntarily snarled when a needle was rammed into his vein.

"Looks like he is conscious."

"Scan his skull, straighten his nose and check if his jaw is fractured. After that you can clean him up and give him liquid; intravenous. Don't want it coming out again." Another female voice replied, this one more authoritative and cool.

Nope, this wasn't a prison; they would have thrown him into a cell, and waited for him to get sober on his own. Hold on; he hadn't been drinking that much, if he remembered correctly, but the other guy, who had assaulted him. By any means that guy shouldn't have been able to be walking straight, with a breath like a distillery, much less punch like an Ogryn. With a weary sigh he let himself drift back into sleep.

Blinking at the same harsh, neon light once more, he awoke hours later in a small white room, the smell of disinfectant strong, assaulting his senses. He turned around to get a better idea of where he was, finding a small window to his left, the view covered by beige curtains. To his right were three more, but empty beds and his infusion. Hospital; why didn't that occur to him last night? He was wearing a grey hospital gown, and a pair of handcuffs keeping him shackled to his bed. Of course his skeleton key-set was nowhere to be found. As he tested the hold of his cuffs, the door opened and a young woman with long, braided auburn hair entered, wearing the white coat of the Officio Medicae.

"I see you have awoken." She greeted him in a rather neutral tone, her green eyes regarding him vigilantly, as if he posed an possible threat.

"How long was I out?" His voice was deep and raspy; he really could use something to drink.

She checked the watch at her coat. "About nine hours; you took quite a hit."

"What? The punch to my nose?" A hand wandered to the patch, covering the bridge and he winced, when a sharp pain shot through his head. That thing was broken.

She approached his bed. "No, according to witnesses, someone smashed a bottle over the back of your head. Nothing to worry about, just a few stitches." Pointing to his face the medicae continued. "Your nose on the other hand is broken. How did you get into that fight anyway?" There was something accusing in her tone; like she was a saint, he though grimly.

"Didn't start it." He defended himself. "That bloke was pissed about something and I was inconveniently close by; all I did was done in self-defense."

She narrowed her eyes dismissively. "You broke several ribs and traumatized his liver."

"Self-defense, and it's hardly my fault he is a heavy drinker. Speaking of which; what is this about?" He lifted his chained arm.

"For our protection. We couldn't anticipate your behaviour, and all we knew was that you incapacitated someone two heads taller and a few dozen pounds heavier than yourself."

"And if I'm a good boy?" He tried to sound innocent, but his voice didn't feel like playing along.

"Then they'll be eventually removed." She answered as she exchanged the now empty infusion. It gave him an opportunity to read the little sign on her coat.

"So your name is Pravin?" He wanted to direct the conversation away from last night.

The medicae removed her blue plastic gloves. "Yes, which reminds me; we haven't found identification with you, so I still need yours."

Great, is wallet was gone too. "Horaz Taylor." He saw the questionable look on her face. "Yeah, not the greatest name, trust me I know." Note to self: Change first name.

"Well, Mr. Taylor, seeing as your injuries are not severe, you won't be staying here for long. Are you living here on Ibelin?"

"No, just passing through. I usually travel with any ship that needs an extra pair of hands in exchange for a bed and something to eat."

"Seems to be working out just fine." Pravin replied, almost sneeringly.

Taylor raised an eyebrow. "Do you think that's appropriate for a doctor? Did I offend you somehow?"

She bit her lip, as if she was only know realizing in what tone she was speaking to her patient. A chained patient. "I'm sorry. No, it's nothing personal, it's not you. It has just been a bad day here."

"Oh yeah? Join the club." He noted dryly. "By the way; is there any chance for me to get something to eat here? My last employee wasn't too generous with the rations. "Taylor had been on Ibelin for about two days, but what little he'd earned on his latest tour would only last another week, and only if he was frugal.

"Of course, I'll get you something."

Taylor couldn't know that the moment Pravin had closed the door behind her, every bit of tension and revulsion was stripped off her, like someone had opened a window in a muggy room. She stopped in her tracks, slightly confused, yet soon moved on, not wasting another though on it.

Snoring was the first thing reaching Lucian Brennan's ears, as he entered the newest Acolyte's room. Snoring and the smell of alcohol. Seth Nelson was half lying on his bed, half on the cold floor, a bottle of Amasec next to him, but empty. His head was clean shaven, except for a stripe, splitting his head like a chopped off Mohawk. The bounty hunter shook his head and approached him, right before kicking the former Storm Trooper's boots. Groaning the younger man woke, rubbing his eyelids, still somewhat dazed. Seth's former goatee had almost turned into a full beard, his eyes, one brown the other one green, gave Brennan a disapproving gaze to say the least.

"What the…?" He mumbled in a hoarse voice.

"Why do you let yourself go like this?" Brennan asked, his tone perfectly appropriate for reprehending a child.

"Why not?" Seth responded grimly, grabbing the bottle and checking its content only to find it empty. Clearly disappointed he threw it away. "Why are you are here? I was just taking a nap." His voiced was quiet, but sore.

"You're with the Inquisition now; a more serious demeanour would be appreciated."

Seth got on his feet, barely, and supported himself on his bed with one hand. "You know I was perfectly happy with my life; only a few years more and I could have quit the Guard if I wanted to, try to have something resembling a normal life, without killing stuff for two second; who knows maybe have a family. But instead I'm now I'm, with a ragtag group of Inquisition servants, barley to no contact to the outside world, 'cause our very existence is kept a secret to most people. I'm stuck here on this ship with a bunch of servitors and a handful of zealots; simply put, I feel out of place like an orc on a peace conference." All this was said in great haste, and with overdramatic gestures, which only made Seth lose his balance, quickly forcing him hold on to the chair next to his bed for additional support. He shook his head, as if it would clear his mind.

"Would you rather be dead now?" Brennan asked him calmly. Seth had had the choice to either join Inquisitor Nicomedo or be executed for knowing too much; and insubordination probably as well.

Seth turned his face away, staring at the floor, his displeasure more than obvious. "I'm still considering." He confessed after a few moments of silence. "You worked solo your most of your life before Nicomedo found you; was it easy for you?"

"No." Brennan replied, with pity in his eyes. "But I stayed, and came to appreciate this kind of work. Though I think it is easier to accommodate to a group, rather than change one for another." He regarded Seth for a moment, who didn't respond or even looked back at him. "Rest and clean yourself up; we'll be arriving on Ibelin in three hours, and Basil wants to take you with him on his 'errands'."

Seth sat down, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "Fine." He began wearily. "I'll be there."

"You devoted your life to fight in the Emperor's name; why does this pose such a stretch to you?" There was nothing pejorative about Brennan's voice, only sincerity.

"I decided to join the Guard when I was a boy." Seth told him. "It seemed honourable, and I had no real future perspective on my home planet. But now after I've survived so many battles, I feel like I've missed out on so many other things. It has always been: 'We protect Mankind from its countless enemies', and you know what; I feel like I hardly know mankind I or even life outside the military. Fuck; thanks to the last world we've been on, I'm pretty sure I've now seen more female eldar than human women. The universe hasn't changed to any notable degree, and if I die all I've accomplished seems so…meaningless." He broke off and returned to stare at the floor under his feet again.

The bounty hunter waited a while, before picking up the conversation again. "I wish I could say something more helpful, but you have to give it more time. One day, maybe without you even noticing, you will accept where you are." Brennan turned, but before leaving he stopped at the door. "And it is not all futile, not to the people we save at least, whether they know it or not; maybe you can find some comfort in that. Besides, someone has to do this job, so it might as well be us. That way at least, we know it's been done properly."

"How long have you been with Nicomedo?"

Brennan shrugged indifferently. "Don't know; I've stopped counting years ago."