Magos Biologis Tormod Smoog stood before a bank of cogitators, going over the latest information he'd garnered from todays fight against the Tyranids. Though he hated to admit it, these... Chem-Dogs, as they were called, were quite adept at delivering him samples. Thus far in the conflict, he'd been visited a half dozen times by squads of the criminals bearing him things ranging from a bag of live Rippers (he didn't even want to know how they pulled that one off) to an unexploded spore mine (the men who delivered that one seemed truly pleased with themselves).
As the cogitators hummed and spat out long sheets of paper covered in near indecipherable machine code, Tormod smiled to himself and turned. He jumped, suddenly startled by the man who stood there. To say he was ragged would be an understatement. The man was breathing heavily and drenched in copious amounts of blood, which Tormod assumed was from where his left arm used to be attached. The bandages over the wound were wet with fresh blood.
"You the magos with all the nid bits?" he asked gruffly.
Tormod nodded, his brain still trying to process the wounded man. The man exhaled and grunted loudly as he lifted his free (and only) hand. The powerful muscles showing through his torn sleeve strained as the man lifted a hormagaunt up and unceremoniously dropped it on the metal exam table.
"Brought ya this." he grunted and absently rubbed at his left shoulder. With a visible effort Tormod peeled his vision away from the soldier and looked at the hormagaunt. It was completely intact. No lasburns, bullet holes or even stab wounds.
"How..." he managed. The soldier shrugged, which caused him to wince in pain.
"Damn thing got past the firing line and tackled me to the ground. Couldn't get a weapon to bear before it was trying to bite my face off. So I just..." he reached forward and dug his fingers into the air in front of him. "I just choked the bastard. Frakkin' thing spasmed as it died, took my arm off."
Tormod just stared at the man for several long, silent moments.
"You're joking." he finally said.
The soldier's eyes narrowed and he bent over and dug his fingers under the cranial plates to lift the hormagaunt's head. Tormod moved closer and examined the creature's throat. Sure enough, the throat was heavily bruised. Tormod swallowed the lump of fear in his throat.
"You're not joking." he muttered.
"No, I'm not." he hissed as he dropped the creature's head. "I need a favor from you, magos."
Tormod blinked.
"Favor? For what?"
"For this." he said, jabbing a finger into the body he'd dragged in. "I brought you this. I want a favor."
"That's... I won't do you a favor for doing something you were ordered to do."
The soldier's eyes narrowed and he took a full step forward on the magos. Tormod shrank before him, cringing, anticipating a blow that never came.
"Oh, you'll do ME this favor."
"W-w-what do you want?"
The man reached out and pointed at one of the hormagaunt's talons.
"Take one of those and make me a power sword from it." he said.
"B-b-but I c-can't! That's blasphemy! The machine spirit would nev-"
"Oh, you'll do it, magos. Which do you think the machine spirit will hate more. You doing it properly, or me doing it with no knowledge and no skill?" Tormod swallowed hard and glanced at the floor.
"Alright... I'll do it..." he said quietly. The soldier retreated a step and Tormod found himself able to breath once more. "W-where will you be?"
"Where ya think? Getting my missing arm replaced." he muttered as the soldier turned his back on the magos and stomped out of the room.