He had no name. Names did not matter. Not in this life. Not on this world.
Krieg. The very name had become synonymous to the citizens and leaders of the Imperium as the word for war. If any of them could see the Death World for themselves, they would immediately understand why.
In a time that none who lived could remember, yet all knew of, this world was as beautiful and pristine as the Terra of old. Treachery had seen to the end of those days. Treachery and hundreds of years of nonstop war. Now Krieg paid for their treachery. A penance tithe made in blood of millions.
He was one of them.
It was the third month of training. He as clad head to toe in training gear, different from wargear only in less use and better functionality. He supposed that having a working re-breather was better than nothing.
Stop thinking. Focus.
The surface of Krieg was little more than radiated dust, with few standing structure. H had entered one such structure now, the skeleton of a construct that ran through a small mountain. The road that had lead through it was all but dust, but the construct itself was somewhat intact. It wouldn't have mattered though, if he'd considered it serviceable. He'd have still had to enter.
He entered the quiet, dim passageway, his hand fingering his training lasgun. All sounds were distorted through his headgear, such as they were. The distant low howl of nuclear winds, his own bootsteps, the other bootsteps...
He dropped to one knee, activating the lasgun and making himself suddenly still. The steps continued only the fraction of a second but it had been enough to give away the enemy's presence.
His breathing shallowed a bit, loud a was it was in his head gear. His eyes looked all around him. Where could she possibly be...
TZZZHK!
He as hit in the chest with a sudden force, causing him to yelp in surprise and fall to his back, his lasgun falling from this hands. The next thing he saw was a figure almost identical to his laying a the butt of a lasgun to the side of his face mask and placing a boot to his chest, causing him to grunt. He struggled to rise but all that earned him was another hit to the head.
"I win," she said with dry humor, something evident even through the crackling of the re-breather.
He didn't respond, opting instead to simply lie there, limp, waiting for her to finish.
A moment passed.
Another.
Finally she cocked her head to the side. "Nothing to say? No comment like last time?"
"No". His voice was dry and emotionless.
"Do you have a sense of humor at all?"
"No."
Her boot pushed harder. "I am the Governors daughter. I command you to laugh."
"Ha ha ha. Tee hee, tee hee." His voice still held that dry, emotionless tone.
She growled in frustration. "Fine. You lose the round, report back to base."
"Yes sir."
She removed her foot and he pulled himself to his feet. Picking up his lasgun, he gave her a stiff salute and made his way to leave.
The Naturals were so odd. So different from the Clones. As a Clone, he found this particular Natural so much odder than most.
It was a distraction. He wiped it from his mind and made his way to announce his loss.