Sworn To Remnant


-CHAPTER 2 - The Trials of Faith -


The absence of faith is the mark of the weak.
The absence of faith is the mark of the heretic.
The absence of faith is the mark of damnation.

- extract from "The Stern Codex", recorded writings of Sister Ephrael Stern of the Adepta Sororitas.


(Imperial Fortress World of Cadia, Segmentum Obscuris, 999.M41)

"Blood for the Blood God! Blood for the Blooooooo...aRrGh!"

"...I deny the Ruinous Powers, and will not suffer the Witch, the Mutant, or Heretic to live..."

Acolyte Delphine, Sister of the Adepta Sororitas, intoned proudly through her Vox's amplifiers amidst the roar of weapons fire, the screams of her Sisters, and the whooshing howls of the purifying flame and its victims.

Picking her targets with practiced care honed by years in the schola and the constant vigils of her Sister Superiors, she loosed another controlled burst of fire from her bolter, the weapon recoiling in her grasp with a force that would've shattered her wrist if not for her Power Armor.

As it stood, three more cultists were torn apart bodily by the explosive tipped rounds as dispassionately as one might prune the thorns from a rose. The sacred targeting cogitators of her helm's display instantly moving to acquire more targets, more impious souls in need of swift judgment.

"...I fight in the Emperor's name, for I am His instrument...!"

She leapt to the side to avoid a super-heated gout of crimson tinged plasma fired from a thing that had once been human, once of the Imperial Guard, but no longer.

Just another foul servant of the Ruinous Powers, another Heretic...another Target.

Shockingly blue eyes blinking away flickering heat alerts from her helmet's augers, Delphine rolled into a crouch, firing off another quick salvo that put the Traitorous Guardsmen down before he could perhaps slip behind the defenses to catch one of her sisters nearby unawares. Each engaged in their own struggles of fire, bolter, and chainsword.

"...My life, His sword and His shield, with which to defend the sacred dominion and soul of Mankind...!"

Autogun rounds clattered and tore across the glistening black enameled surface of her sacred wargear like raining hail. Pinging loudly off the side of her Sabbat-pattern helmet as cultists, sprinting towards the Sister of Battle with no thought to consequence, fired with wild abandon in vain attempts to slow her advance.

Yet the thrice blessed battle plate and her careful adherence to the rites of maintenance held true, her faith rewarded. Not one round managing to penetrate to the vulnerable flesh beneath. Raising her bolter to her shoulder, she depressed the trigger, arms jarring with the bone-jarring recoil, calmly placing her shots center mass of the once-men as she'd been instructed in the Schola until her weapon clicked dry, starved of shells.

The foe still lived, and would need to be dealt with. Still, the Emperor rewards with victory, she who counts her ammunition. Best to save her weapon's fury for the majority, as she was unsure of when the next resupply would come, if ever it did.

But that was of no concern presently.

Singing a hymn of praise to the Emperor seated upon his Golden Throne, Delphine sprinted among the scattered horde, turning ones head into a cloud of bone fragments with a close range shot and nearly impaling another as her fist drove into his sternum. The servos of her plate whirring their sacred screeching cadence as they bestowed upon her body the strength to do the Emperor's will to it's fullest extent, caving in the foul Heretic's ribcage.

"...A blessing upon the Faithful, a scourge of the Unclean and Impure...!"

The last tried to run in the face of her righteous action, its meager courage failing it utterly. Its faith in its idolatrous heathen gods feeble in the face of one of those truly devoted to His will.

Delphine calmly reloaded with the mechanical precision drilled into her very bones by years of drill and dispatched it without another glance, putting a bolt in its back and moving to the next grouping displayed on her threat sensors.

Quite unable to help the smile building across full lips unused to the act. Her sisters had been right, War truly was the purest and most satisfying form of worship.

'Praise be!'

Her mind exalted His glorious presence, for in this moment she felt truly guided by His hand for perhaps the first time since her days of sitting in the Schola chapels, her first experience in hearing His call to arms, guided by His will as she smote his enemies. 'Praise be to the Ruler of Mankind!'

If she were to fall this day then so be it, her deeds an echo of his divine plan that would sound throughout eternity. There was no doubt that the war she now fought in would shake the Imperium...no, the whole of the Galaxy itself.

To fall while facing the hated Warmaster and his damned legions, that was a fate she could bear. A fate that would see her to the Emperor's side with her head held high. Her soul inviolate.

"While vile mutants still draw breath, there can be no peace!..."

One of Delphine's sisters, a valiant Seraphim, screamed down from the skies on the blessed wings of a smoking jump pack several meters distant with bone crunching momentum, knocked from the sky by sheer volume of fire and a single moment of ill fortune.

Even so, she still crushed the horned skull of a beastman under her heel with the impact, chainsword tearing the throat from another in a cleaving riposte born of hate, the weapon sputtering, choking on the sheer gore clogged within its mechanisms. Bolt pistol roaring in her grasp, each shot promising death for yet another enemy of Him on Terra.

But more of the foe were coming, more were always coming. Delphine herself too far to do more than cry out a warning. One that fell on deaf ears...

"While obscene heretics hearts still beat, there can be no respite!"

The nameless sister struggled on valiantly against impossible odds, singing the Catechisms of Hate with every breath amplified by her helm's casters, even as she was born down to the blood slick ground under sheer weight of numbers, clawed hands and stabbing knives tearing at the vulnerable seals of her armor, piercing to the flesh beneath.

"W-while faithless traitors still live...there...there can be no...forgiveness...!"

Delphine didn't see the act, braced against what she knew would no doubt follow, but knew enough the sudden deafening rapid fire boom of a krak grenades and the sudden rain of unholy entrails and other viscera to guess.

There would be no mourning, there was none necessary where a simple prayer to honor her courage and guide her spirit would suffice. The Seraphim had done her duty proud to the end.

No life given in the Emperor's name was ever wasted. So it was said, so let it be...but first Delphine herself had more mutants, heretics, and witches to slay. And slay she would, until either she herself fell to join the fallen Seraphim, or Cadia was pure of taint once more. Whichever came first...

"Sister Delphine!"

One of her fellow sister's called over the vox, Sister Superior Mariana and her squad, fighting with sacred chainsword and bolter in hand against cultists ten times their number. Mariana herself burning the corruption away with her heavy Flamer, the whistling screech of Promethium heated air as it rendered tainted flesh into hissing steam and turned Heretics to screaming pyres was a prayer all its own, executed in faith.

"You are falling behind the main line, Sister! Steel yourself! In these numbers, the Emperor does not care how the Heretics burn, only how many we can give to the flames in his name. Praise be!"

'Praise be...'

Delphine nodded while reloading, taking the rebuke and redoubling her efforts to rejoin the squad carving their bloody path towards towards the flagging lines of Guardsmen still fighting in the trenches. And fighting they were indeed, each man taking untold numbers of the enemy with him as they fell.

But fell they did, and soon enough the Commissar, a mousy little Cadian that seemed far too young for the role, was calling to her company for a retreat to the fallback positions along the fire blackened, blood stained ridge from whence they they had come. Stumbling as a las round sliced across her shoulder only to be supported on the arm of another guardsman lacking his helmet, clear terror writ across youthful features as he stared back.

At first the Sister wondered if there was some sort of lack of faith pervading the woman's senses, almost taking it upon herself then and there to end the cowards' lives before they could bring more shame upon their pathetic souls and those of their men, the Commissar most of all.

Such a lapse in discipline from one of the Schola Progenium's chosen, those meant to serve as guides for the fervor of the Emperor's forces, even from a young cadet.

Such a lapse of character and faith was inexcusable, deserving of swift judgement...carried out by the hands of those more worthy.

Then she realized why they ran, saw the hulking figures charging forward from the mists that obscured the enemies support lines, twisted horns wrought in the image of their daemonic masters, ceramite plates of armor adorned in the blood of the Imperium's innocents and a foul twisted script that made her eyes ache just to look upon. The character seeming almost to write with their own corrupted intent, worming their way into her thoughts only to meet the defiance of a mind girded in faith.

Traitor Astartes, Space Marines that had fallen from the Emperor's grace by their own rebellious defiance, driven back into the great Eye to languish in its corrupting embrace for all eternity. Until now...

Just the sight of them alone was enough to chill the young Sister's blood, and send Guardsmen who had already weathered the forces of madness without flinching fleeing before them in abject terror. The feeling instinctive, a mixture of awe at their destructive capability, and dread at that same potential lost to the forces of Chaos.

Delphine knew their colors, had been tasked with memorizing the various signs of those in service to the Arch-Enemy. She knew of the twisted scions of Lorgar, the fallen sons of a legion that had once proclaimed itself as the Emperor's most faithful. Their Leader clearly in evidence, perhaps the architect of this very assault, followed by a choir of both his bastard brothers and a host of mortal heretic chaff to sing their unholy praises.

A dusky skinned face marked liberally with the foul signs of mutation, vestigial horns sprouting from what had once been fine patrician features but now only bore the curse of the warp, eyes glowing with aetheric fire as clawed hands clutched at a staff topped by an eight pointed talisman wrought in blood soaked iron and brass...

"Word Bearers! Stand firm, Battle Sisters! Stand firm for His Imperium! Ave Imperator! In His name! To VICTORY!"

Sister Mariana spurred the charge, giving voice to a wordless righteous fury that had clutched at the hearts of the faithful, naming the foe upon which to vent the the Order's wrath. Sisters disengaged from their lesser foes, screaming hymns to Him on Terra as they ran to smite this most hated of foes, the Sister-Acolyte making to join them only to have her path barred by more gibbering cultists seeking to drag her down by sheer weight of numbers.

Little more than an irritant to one such as herself, but also likely what saved Sister Delphine's life in the end.

The Astartes reacted quickly to the oncoming servants of the God Emperor, moving to level their bolters with a speed far greater than their gene-bulked physiques and bulwark solid wargear might have suggested, cackling as armored fingers pulled at ancient well-worn triggers.

Three Sisters slain in half as many seconds, their holy human forms, trained and honed by years of purification and sacred calling, now shattered by warp-corrupted bolter rounds that gauged through the sacred battle plate of their armor before detonating in blooming swathes of gore. Erased leaving only charred meat and gristle in their wake.

"Do not shirk! Do not falter! Do not Relent!"

Their sacrifice was not without meaning however, Sister Mariana managing to clamber to higher ground and bring her flamer to bear on the closest of the monstrous transhuman warriors.

A brute sporting ancient power armor adorned in what could only be the flayed skin of the innocent, some still bearing tattered traces of clothing or tattoos to denote their allegiance. Pages of script fluttering in mocking parody of the purity seals adorning the Sister's own armor, sigils perhaps meant to invoke the protection of one of his heathen gods...

If so, then they were as pitiful as the Powers he'd sold his Soul to serve, consumed as he was in a welter of purifying flame.

Astartes or no, blessed with a host of gifts that turned him from mere man into as pure an aspect of war as one could perhaps be, if a corrupt one. Perhaps a creature that had once walked at the side of demigods in the wake of Horus' great betrayal, he still died...and by the Throne he died badly, flailing about pitifully and shrilly screaming his hatreds as gene forged flesh blackened and his armor cracked and teamed, cooking him within its shell like some great crustacean...

His screams abruptly silenced forever by the rapid deafening boom of his bolter's magazine cooking off at once, a wonderful sight to any of the Faithful. Only then did Mariana relent, halting the howling flames much to Delphine's secret dismay.

While she would claim no true vices, such things the purview of the lesser and the unclean, she could not quite deny a fascination with the sacred fire.

'Glorious...' She imagined she could feel the backwash of heat, even through the protective layers of her plate.

It's true beauty, its ability to scour away the darkness of an unremitting galaxy, the purity of it...

Her cheeks warmed momentarily at the sight of it burning traitors, just as they had at the executions of heretics brought to the convent to suffer the judgment of the Emperor's brides. That feeling alone gave her pause, feeling...wrong, but prayer would have to suffice, if she lived so long. She doubted she would.

That momentary distraction cut short by a booming explosion of wicked force that knocked her and many of her from her feet, alert claxons wailing impotently. Runes springing to life across the visor of her helm, her bolter flying free of fingers suddenly numb, an inexcusable lapse, one that would have seen her fulfilling rites of penance under the eyes of the Drill-Abbots back in the scholam.

But this was no mere exercise, and the creature before her now wiped all thought of penance from her mind.

The leader, grinning with a smile filled with teeth filed to jagged points, marched across the battlefield towards our crumpled line through fields of fire and death as one might stride down a busy hive street.

"Truly? Is this all the Corpse-God's brides can muster, hmm? A final pitiful gasp in the dark as a world burn around them, as it must, as the Pantheon demands?"

One Sororitas tried her best to feebly claw at his feet and halt his progress, her leg missing from the thigh down, the catechisms of Blessed Saint Keeler on her lips.

The Astartes proselytizer barely noticed, her efforts only to be crushed like a wriggling bug beneath his boot with a wet *squelch* and a squeal of abused metal before he marched on.

Eyes fixed keenly on Mariana who stood defiant, the visor-clad eyes of her helm unyielding and unshakable. Her only emotion the burning hate of one faced with evil, the righteous anger of one viewing a servant of the Arch-Enemy.

"Your Sisters across the face of this world are dead. Your pitiful mockery of a Saint is dead. And here you all stand, screaming your feeble worship to the heavens above, hoping with all your heart and soul to be noticed by your Emperor."

Mockingly, he looked up at the welter of warp spawned lightning and blood tinged storm clouds that raged above us, the distant stars of warships dying in the vast void flashing, every so often for moments before fading, just as the lives of the crews that toiled at their helms.

And that strange new force, building and taking shape in the skies above this battlefield, that great burning eye gazing down upon faithful and damned alike. Judging all, its light reflected in the soulless orbs of the Astartes, a smile that made Delphine's skin crawl just to look upon splitting a scared and pitted face carved apart by eons of war and debaucheries unfathomable.

"Know He does not hear you, Mortal. Just as he never heard us. Despite our love, despite our Father's devotion and the worlds we brought into compliance in His name. But the Pantheon takes notice, the true Powers see all, and will carry your souls...!"

"Silence puppet of Heresy!" Mariana screamed a vox-distorted cry of denial, her weapon roaring to life and screaming its fiery hatred to consume the false prophet where he stood. "Your misbegotten lies shall find no purchase here!"

That should've been the end of it, the host of such Heresies burning to ashes in the flames of righteous judgement.

In Delphine's inexperienced mind how could anything else be so? Light triumphed over the darkness, despite such sacrifices, conviction would carry the day...

So of course she was at a loss for words as the Word Bearer strode from the conflagration, shrouded in etheric energies, guttering flames barely licking at the parchments and skins affixed to his armor to tower over Sister Mariana. The Sister of Battle, a woman honed by dozens of engagements and bearing the marks of all of them, seemed little more than a child in the face of such a creature, barely standing to his armored chest.

"E-Emperor, protect your loyal servant in her hour of ne...Agh?!" She barely had time to utter the litany, hefting her Flamer for another burst when her whole body shuddered as the spiked prongs of the staff head cored through her battleplate an out the back of her spine, her feet kicking feebly in midair as the Astartes drew her close. "The strength...of...of the Emperor is Humanity, and the strength of H-Humanity...is...is..."

"Determined aren't you, little Sister?"

His gauntlets, shaped into a set of wicked claws, deftly plucked at the seals of her helm, gently drawing the obstruction away to reveal the sisters scarred visage, dark ebon skin made pale by shock, blood pouring from trembling lips. Too much blood...

"Such passion. You would have made a fine convert to the true faith."

"M-My...My Emperor...ah!" Mariana rasped, her voice somehow made clear to every Sister despite the Chaos of Battle, echoing through our hearts and minds. More of the Astartes foul sorcery no doubt, but none of those still alive could bear to turn aside. Their leader, their champion, struggling with all she had to bring her weapon to bear one final time, the pilot light of her flamer hissing weakly... "The Emperor...p-protects..."

"No, sweet ignorant child...He does not." The Astartes crooned his blasphemies in a voice sweet with honeyed malignity. His calm expression slipped but a moment as the Sister spat weakly, not quite able to hit his flesh, merely speckling the ceramite coating his chest, barely standing out against the crimson of his wargear. "He will never know of your sacrifice, your life one of billions to be offered for the glory of the Dark Gods. Fade now, and let the knowledge of our victory guide your spirit to the Denizens of the Immaterium."

His burning gaze strayed to the gyre forming above the battlefield, that hateful crackling aperture staring down at the portrait of war and carnage below dispassionately. Sister Superior Mariana of the Order of Our Martyred Lady, blessed servant of the God-Emperor of Mankind, died in that moment as she followed the gesture, her last sight that of a sky being torn open by the baleful forces of the hated warp.

A hateful thing, foul, corrupt...and the Champion of Chaos spread his arms wide in open adoration.

"So let it be!"

Just being in proximity of the Warp-spawned phenomenon set whispers of things better left ignored tingling at the back of the young Sister's mind as she fought to free herself, paralyzed like the others unable to resist the Astartes foul influence, or was the Astartes...but the warp-thing itself?

Images of places and sights she'd never witnessed flashing like decayed pict feeds across her awareness, a lunar body shattered like glass, dark monstrous shapes baying for the blood of man like the foul Tyranid Xenos-breed...a fortress-castle the like of nothing she'd ever seen, let alone imagined?

A world untainted...a world besieged...

No doubt some attempt by this...Creature to influence her thoughts, foiled by the unyielding certainty of faith and devotion. Those images quashed through prayer, focus, and the desire to see the foul Sorcerer brought low, but still she couldn't help but spare a glance even so...

Sending the Sister's now limp form flying with a dismissive flick of his staff, the Sorcerer turned to regard his flock of mortals, mutants, and Astartes, focusing on one in particular. A young woman, with hair the color of blood and eyes a soulless black to the very pupils, shining from a visage so pale she might've been a corpse. Lean of body, dressed in an ornately woven tunic the same dark as her gaze and jingling with the weight totems and sewn through with devotional scripture hung with the fangs of Daemons.

She seemed almost delicate, but Delphine could smell the taint within her, more by instinct than any true sign. The servants of the Arch-Enemy were as varied in form as they were in deed, and all deserved little more than the flame or the sword.

"Claret, dear. Remember this moment. The unerring strength of true belief, despite ignorance. Ignorance we must cast aside without hesitation, all the better to serve the will of the Powers."

"Of course, Lord Viridis." She bowed reverently as one might a servant to a beloved master, acknowledging his notice to the jealous contempt of those around her. "May their gaze ever be on our actions, lighting the path to truest communion. So let it be."

"So let it be." A Mortal, beholden an Astartes, especially one of this abomination's vile ilk...spouting his nonsense...sipping form the font of such poison...

Though something felt inherently off about this woman, something more, something wrong...

Delphine however couldn't bring herself to care for some twisted apprenticeship. Too busy stumbling her way over broken landscape and bodies, intent on the fallen form of Mariana, the vortex's spell broken by the shock of the woman's brutal murder. The weight of her armor crushing, to resist such oppressive powers taxing the young woman in a way she had never known before, a weight on her very soul, one that might have crushed a weaker spirit outright and dragged on her even now.

She fought it, bitterly, her hatred granting her strength, even as she knew her fellows fell short. Armored women, stalwart defenders of the Imperium of Man, reduced to standing or laying prostrate, unable to tear their gaze from the sway of sorcery. Their murmurs filling the vox, inane mutterings of Kingdoms burning, seasons changing...Sister far older and far more experienced.

'How? How then do I stand resolute? How do I alone resist...!?'

-"Stand firm."- A voice whispered in her ear, foreign, yet...so right, in her mind's voice, but something was... -"You must stand firm, Sister!"- So petulant, so assumptive, yet she forgot the little voice in an instant.

The memory of it burned away, replaced by resolve.

No! Delphine crushed those doubts before they could give birth to questions that might weaken her resolve. She stood, so thus she must act, that alone was what mattered. Reaching her fallen commander.

Lying still against a backdrop of a burning planet, of brave defenders of faith and decency falling to the sheer number of the unclean, the unworthy...even in death, the Sororitas still defiantly clutched at the handle of her Heavy Flamer, even as the life drained from her veins to pool on the ground beneath her. The Fleur De Lys tattooed across her cheek almost lost amidst the grime and gore streaking her slackened features.

If the Sister hadn't known better, she might've thought Mariana was sleeping. Blood stained purity seals fluttering limply in the harsh ashen breeze, their litanies lost in the crimson and soot, indecipherable.

Yet it mattered little, Delphine knew the words as intimately as she knew herself, their meaning branded into the marrow of her being and existence utterly and completely. And with their comforting recitation on her lips, she commended the fallen champion's spirit to Him on Terra, a woman who had been her guide now forever at the side of the Golden Throne.

There was Certainty in that, not Peace, never Peace. Such a concept was not for one such as her...

Her soul, and those of Delphine and her sisters, were girded in far more than simple warplate, armed with far greater than mere sword and bolter. They were the instruments of the God-Emperor's divinity, His will made manifest in the wider galaxy. Against the horrors that dwelt among the darkest stars and devilish of hellscapes.

It was the Emperor's enemies who stood before her. And as the Sister Novitiate took up Mariana's heavy flamer, the pilot light flickering to life in time with the warmth of conviction and fervor that spread throughout her being, she swore that it would be the Emperor's enemies that fell this day, even if doing so consumed her in the act.

As long as at least one Sister breathed, her duty to the Emperor continued.

"Only in death does that duty end." First one step forward, than another, and another after that. Each growing steadily easier as she focused her spirit on the flame, becoming it, seeking the purity of purpose and focus. "Face me, Heretic!"

"Oh dear me, another one?" The monster, Viridis, had taken notice of her, the slightest stirrings of a frown creasing demonically influenced features as eyes that had seen the fall of civilizations and the birth of nightmares widened. Shocked despite himself at the sight of a lone young woman standing defiant over the corpse of one he'd so callously cut down. "She resists the Lady's Gaze...curious. That should be..."

Again his eyes drove skyward, as though Delphine were beneath his notice.

"In the name of the Emperor, I deny you! Spawn of Lorgar!" The words came easier, fervor boiling away the weakness in her limbs, exhaustion burning away. She was as the flame, inviolate, burning brightly so as to drive away the darkness. "Heretic, Mutant, Sorcerer...Traitor!"

"Such pretty words, and all so pointless." Viridis chuckled, a sound like snapping cobblestones or the rumblings of distant mountains. An inhuman sound, for an infuman individual. "You have spirit, Child. Kneel and find yourself blessed by Gods who will actually listen. Not some tormented corpse screaming into the darkness with no eyes to see how far his crumbling Imperium has fallen."

His hangers-on tittered and cackled, twisted malformed things that they were, all except for Claret who stood apart, a flicker of trepidation crossing her youthful countenance. Viridis ignored them all, holding out a welcoming hand towards the stalwart Sister, gesturing to those around her that stood by enraptured by the light of the strange demi-Eye.

"Imagine it. Divinities who will recognize your efforts, reward your triumphs. Faith given meaning, given purpose..."

"Lies!"

Promethium spewed forth in a torrent of howling flames that burned hot enough to render the muddied soil to charred glass, Viridis scowling as an armored hand swept out before him, sorcerous energies redirecting the flames away from himself and...shockingly enough, Claret. His acolyte stepping forward with her hand moving towards a crooked dagger only to be held at bay by her Master, sent running into the madness to vanish. Her form lost in the flames.

One survivor among his coterie. The others, the mutants and the sycophants, his zealous pack of beasts, brayed and howled as they perished in agony.

Their screams a benediction, their suffering her devotion, as was the only truly fitting way a Sister of Battle might exercise her faith.

A faith far stronger than this False Prophet's faltering promises of damnation. Her actions had meaning. And what's more, they inspired what remained of her fellow Sororitas. Many staggering as if released from some enforced nightmare slumber, still speaking but no longer was it the inane ramblings of the possessed, no...no longer...but a promise.

A prayer to He who would aid them, benediction against the foul machinations of the Xenos, the depravities of the Mutant, and the insidious scheming of the Heretic.

A prayer on the lips of every Sister as they charged across the field, hatred in their eyes, zeal in their hearts...

And so they died...but more importantly, so did the Heretics and the foes of He on Holy Terra...

'Praise be...'


-END


A/N: Hey all, hope you enjoyed my attempt at writing a Sister of Battle. Seeing as much of their character in battle is screaming prayers and denials at the enemy, not too difficult though I'm still on the fence as to how good it wound up. Same with the Apostle Viridis, hate the Word Bearers, but they make decent villains for the Sororitas.

Feel free to let me know among other things you're hoping to see, things I got wrong. Was actually surprised this got as many look-ins as it did and the support was a real motivator.

Hopefully should have the next chapter out in short order, seems to be a trend with this one that I write big chapters that tend to work better on their own. Next should be the final 'Setup' with the Fourth finally getting Imperial boots on Remnant. Perhaps Space Marine boots (Oh yeah, definitely Space Marine boots)

Yeah...Remnant is in trouble. - Mojo