A/N: Hi, and happy Fourth Of July! Steam Summer Sale got in the way for me, so I may have worked on this one for a little bit less time than I did the first one. There are certainly no dark implications to be drawn from this, absolutely none.

Oh yeah, if I haven't already spammed this on the first chapter, this is my first ever fanfic(practice is for n00bs, I am a skrub) and so it might grow powerful plot holes. Did anyone catch any Half Life references in the previous chapter though? No? :(

Highflyer – Thx! It's great to hear you like it. After I started writing this chapter, I agree that the title was too meh for something that swings between extreme, cynically cynical cynicism and 40K despair, so I have nuked it from orbit and replaced it with something a bit more toxic. RIP And Their Dreams Were Humble Ones. However, I will say that politicians have the occasional habit of exaggerating things(and I might've gone a bit overboard with that part), and I have no wish for heretical amounts of grimderp to show up here(bad luck and Orks aside), so I'll try to make the Imperium Of Man just slightly drowning under paperwork.

"Well, this is unusual."

"Captain Obvious, this one is." - Original holovid quote lost in the Seven Decade War.

"Yes, Elvrad, this is unusual, enough that it is highly concerning to the rest of the Farseers. Our Craftworld shall not be left unable to respond, however. You will gather a number of our people and a few ships for yourself and the leader of this mission, which is going to be Farseer Lileneth."

There was some confusion for Captain Obvious in this, however, and a hint of distaste followed.

"Honored Farseer, are you not leading the expedition yourself?"

The amount of formality in that one question almost hurt.

"Sadly, no. She needs the experience without someone watching over her. This mission will require skills dealing with the other races, particularly humans, and Lileneth shall gain some experience in advancing the interests of our home with others."

Well, that was relatively straightforward. There was a threat against the translator's well-being within the compliment, as usual. His mentor and father, however, wasn't quite finished.

"Also, make sure that once Lileneth has been told about this assignment that the majority of your crews have a basic understanding of Low Gothic. Make sure she knows the crude language, actually."

Oh no. Not like this. His sister had hated those lessons, and suffering through her unsubtle displays of disgust for such things had been about as enjoyable as attempting to hug a Tyranid. But he was a patient person(in his opinion), and it would be no different(again, in his opinion).

"Absolutely, father."


Rarely has unplanned change ever been a good thing for a government. Change could too easily herald a disaster or a shake-up amongst the leadership, or an end to a reliable source of bribes. Almost as important, a government's role is to be a source of stability for its people and manage these changes.

That was why governments across the years, despite the countless different forms they took, all had one uniting factor. They reacted very quickly, if not always effectively, to major change.

And so several of the members of the Federation Delta Sector Council(also known as the FDSC), in all of its glorious redundancy, found themselves rudely awakened in the middle of their sleep, and being dragged to an emergency meeting to actually do their jobs.

The Senator of Delta Sector was also known as the Minuteman for a habit of too closely watching chronographs during meetings, and Just Another Candidacy, due to a lack of anything remarkable having happened under his office. He was also deemed by many to be able to sleep in his work clothing without wrinkling it, an admirable trait if true, because he was always ready for business, whether it was telling the press off or directing a superior's attention away from problems.

At the 355th emergency meeting in the history of the ruling council, he appropriately spoke the first words.

"Exactly what happened? All I'm hearing about is this panic about how we're all doomed like that one time in 2012, and it cut off my break period."

Indubitably wise words. A shapeshifting blob of metal with what looked like a glowing sphere for eyes replied.

"Short answer: Local reality transposed over someone else's, rules of reality similar to ours. Different time and place, year 42,000, according to local transmissions. Interesting how language and number systems nearly identical to ours. Thousands of years, different universe, still no one have a good replacement for numbers."

Before anyone could properly respond to that infodump, the youngest member of the council summed up the overall reaction, quite eloquently.

"Edgy."

The senator turned to glare at the Ministry Of Media representative, and decided not to bother. He doubted his gaze would get past all those displays and news updates. He also wasn't sure whether the spokesperson had even directed that comment at the proceedings, or something else. An Archivist in the room decided to change the subject.

"All right, so how did we end up here? Do we know what enabled this?"

The Federation Operational Intelligence Affairs(proper acronym FOIA) officer broke her silence.

"To simplify to extremes, the reason for this shift was complications in an experiment by Gateway Research."

On the Secretary of the Treasury's display, she sighed and rubbed her temples. Despite millennia of advancement, no one had ever managed to come up with a prescription for such problems. The most likely reason was that there wasn't much profit to be made.

Meanwhile, the Archivist, seeing a chance to write the history he usually was found recording, decided to take the initiative.

"Every time we have a legitimate problem, it's their fault. Last time it was taking down several sectors' Interweb connections for a full 24 hours for a 'social experiment', now it's dumping us into what could be hell for all we know. Anyone up for an audit vote?"


In the forty second millennium, incompetence and corruption was rife. The operative word for survival in a violent world was simply, 'luck'. Even the mighty wall of bureaucracy that was the Imperium Of Mankind relied on fickle fortune to keep itself going. After all, they knew only one way to travel faster-than-light, and the Immaterium is an ever-shifting hell subject to the whims and desires of monstrous gods and predatory creatures.

The brave men and women serving an iron will didn't balk at such things. They endured, thanks to the much expounded efforts of their Emperor on his golden latrine.

But even with an ascendant's protection, there was little that could ever be done to prevent a Warp storm from throwing around the mightiest battleships like toys in a child's hands. Without the protective light of the Astronomican, the Navigators leading supply fleets and battle groups could not safely travel.

But as in all those great stories, one day, an age-old Warp storm lying on the edges of unimportant Imperial territory died down. Nothing that needed to be fought came out of it. The occurrence was noted, but whereas others would be excited and prepare for adventure, there was only muted relief within the ranks of the Emperor's servants. They were fighting so many things already.

However, others didn't choose blissful ignorance. There were those who stood to make profits regardless of whether they find themselves in war or peace, for one. And of course, there were those who simply stumbled and trampled their way across discoveries due to a distinct lack of concern for anything but propa' killyness and dakka.


Alexis Putin, Rogue Trader of the Imperium, and one of the richest men across several sectors of Imperial space, was busy.

He had been spending a huge amount of his time pulling together his assets to prepare for a run to unload his wares, and now he was expecting to finally be able to get rid of a lot of unwanted inventory.

At the same time, he had been getting reports about planets and systems being revealed by the fading of an ancient Warp storm. Potential glory and riches lay in the bringing of worlds to compliance, even in the unlikely possibility they were uninhabited. There were strict orders from above not to interfere yet, though he was busy searching for loopholes.

Such hard work was tiring for a man like him, albeit almost any type of work could make a man like him tired. He put down his dataslate, and reached down to a cabinet.

He pulled out a bottle of wine, opening it as he did so. Pouring it into a glass, he relaxed in anticipation of reward for a job well done.

Instead, his vox rang and he tensed, fully ready to flay alive with words whoever had the bright idea to interrupt one of his rare breaks. Instead of following standard procedure and tossing the Emperor-forsaken thing at a wall, he answered it, a picture of his secretary sweating bullets appearing on the screen. The messenger wasn't going to get to state his message just yet, though.

"Now is not a good time to be bothering me, Swanson. I swear, by the Emperor himself, if this isn't important, I will personally see to it that you are placed on the receiving end of an Arbites interrogation and ejected out of an airlock after-"

Apparently something was terrifying the secretary, enough that he dared to cut off his boss, for the unfortunate man did so.

"S-sir! There's an Ork fleet raiding our facilities! The ships are huge, and they're right on top of us! I can hear them scream and shout out there! The defense frigates have all been blown out of the skies by now and there's a horde of them barreling towards our orbital station right now!"

"Damnation! Well, rally the men and hold them off. Once you've done that, get to the Emperor's Thrones immediately. The Imperial Navy must be warned! We shall-"

The structure screeched and the connection between the Rogue Trader and his subordinate was lost. The lights went out, shortly afterwards being replaced by the gentle green glow of emergency lighting. The Rogue Trader cursed, picking up his laspistol and a small case, and left the office for his flagship's bridge.

Shoving his way through people he didn't care for, he ran. His groxhide boots thumped every time they hit the steel floor as he made turns left and right, following a path only he knew in the confusion and panic.

He was almost there. Just up ahead, there was an entrance to his ship, and he would be safe once he was on it.

The guards were dead, he realized. Their unmoving bodies and splattered blood said that much. And the shouting and violence wasn't as far away as he'd thought, as he watched Orks exit his ship and smash through part of a bulkhead. His escape plan was foiled, by all odds accidentally.

Ahead, the burly, belligerent creatures shouted at each other in their ridiculous accents, butchering words and grammar relentlessly. He could make out what one of them, the loudest, said.

"Oi, we'z 'ere ta' foight, not pranz' aroun' liehk da' pansie Eldarz!"

It seemed that the fungi were bickering between each other. He hadn't thought they had the brainpower for different opinions.

They did, apparently, because the Ork he had heard promptly decapitated the one next to him with a large axe-thing to accentuate his point. Or maybe it was just for the sake of it. He didn't claim to understand xenos minds, that would be heretical.

Perhaps if they all killed one another, a possibility, he would be able to get rid of the survivors and regain control of his ship.

The Shoota of the biggest of the Ork group fired at point blank range, banging incessantly as it blew apart the disobedient one's head and torso with a volley of rounds. Somehow, a few projectiles missed. When the other Orks had stopped their firing and the leader considered his target dead enough, the human prayed to the Emperor that the dissent had spread.

"We'z follow da' Warboss' ordaz! An' 'iz ordaz' are ta' loot da' place an' do targit practiz on da' 'umiez!"

As he put his head down in case any more bullets flew, he instead heard a deafening cry.

"WAAAAAAGH!"

Guess the prayer didn't get through.

Or maybe the dice gods just hated the well-off bastard, because the stack of boxes he'd been using as cover fell down, not just exposing himself, but also drawing the attention of half a dozen bloodthirsty Orks.

The man reacted a bit faster than the dumbfounded Orks did, raising his laspistol towards the hulking green warriors. Slim, elegant, and made with real, highly polished cherry wood for a handle, the laspistol was a family treasure, high-carat gold forming a pair of aquilas on its sides along with functional iron sights on top of the thing. He pulled the trigger.

While the pistol itself had weathered the passage of time well under its many owners' loving care, the power cell, which had been left in the magazine well the whole time, had degraded. More specifically, the ability to regulate its output had slowly degraded over the many years.

The pistol deafened the profiteer, the corridor's shade of neon green momentarily blending with a bright red as the beam ionized the air, imparted a massive amount of energy into the closest Ork, exploded said Ork's torso, and then stopped abruptly at a bulkhead.

Caught him by surprise, that was for sure. Was his laspistol the secret identity of a superhero bolter?

The remaining four Orks didn't care. Their leader bellowed in a barely coherent manner.

"WAAAAAAAAAAGH! KILL 'IM BOYZ! FER GORK AN' MORK!"

He recovered quickly, aiming the laspistol at the head of the leader, and with a quick beseeching of the machine spirit, pulled the trigger. Considering how well he'd just rolled, he was bound to have some luck.

Frak. Nothing. Although the Orks did get closer. Figuring that his first shot had drained the power pack, he flattened himself against the floor. He reached for a fresh one in his pocket.

Feeling legitimate fear, the Rogue Trader's fingers fumbled with the magazine release, once, then twice, before the power pack fell out with a clatter onto the floor. Lying prone, it took precious seconds to get out the fresh pack before he slid it into place. He got up into a crouching position, aiming his gun at the head of the head of the pack.

Too long.

A bullet from the Ork leader's ridiculous Shoota bounced off the ceiling, ricocheted against a bulkhead wall, and unceremoniously smashing into the desperate man's throat and exiting his spine. Falling from nerveless hands, his treasured pistol clattered carelessly against the floor.

The seconds it took for him to fall seemed to drag for eternity. Had he served the Emperor faithfully? Would he approve of all the things he had done? What would it be like? His train of thought ended there, before the whispers of madness spoke within his mind. The former adventurer struggled against them, but it was a losing battle, he couldn't dispel the veil of lies upon him. He grasped for his nonexistent throat with hands he didn't have, before they suddenly stopped. Where the swirl of painful, simply wrong colors had been, there was now a serene, golden glow ahead of him. It was so quiet. How long he waited, he didn't know, before he felt a push at the back of his mind. He walked forwards, towards the promised land.


"Woah. Boss, look a' dis!"

An Ork had accidentally smashed into a few buttons on the ship's bridge, and all of a sudden there was a huge map floating in the air. The surprise had resulted in a few Shootas and Sluggas going off, scarring the Imperial ship's abused interior even more.

The Warboss was apprehensive. The humies had put up much less of a fight than he'd expected, but at least the ship he was in was big. Big meant plenty of space for dakka.

But perhaps this new discovery would make up for it. There were a few planets marked as 'new' on the map, and considering how 'new' Shootas and 'new' loot was always great, perhaps going new places would be fun as well. Maybe he would discover new things to foight, other than the boring humies. He randomly chose one of the 'new' systems and pointed at it. All the other Orks turned to look, one stumbling over a random hunk of metal that had been sitting right at his foot. Warboss Grotshootah bellowed.

"We'z goin' there! Fer Gork and Mork!"

Remembering that the rest of his fleet probably didn't have the same map, in an uncommon burst of kunning, he decided to make sure the rest of his ragtag fleet got the update. The Mekboy would get the job done!

"Mekboy Dakkawiz! Git ya' ass ova' 'ere!"

Perhaps he wasn't quite cunning, however. Mekboyz typically weren't the type to get the job done, even with lots of teef as payment.


All great civilizations fall sooner or later. In the forty second millennium, dust and ruins serves as damning proof. Some bow to the inevitability of extinction, while others simply break under the crushing weight. Some refuse to give up so easily, bringing to bear knowledge and technology to stay alive in the face of opposition, constantly searching for advantages to leverage and ways to defy fate.

In doing so, some manage to hold on to the belief that their glory days are still within grasp.

"I know what you are about to tell me. I have foreseen this in the runes."

Warlock Elvrad raised an eyebrow internally. The point?

"Lileneth, it's not that big a deal. And I thought that you were still learning how to interpret the runes. What exactly did they tell you?"

If he was hoping to get a straightforward answer from his temperamental sister, he was sorely disappointed.

"Many things."

By the gods, their conversation was really going places. Really, teaching understanding to a mon-keigh might be an easier endeavor than dealing with his sister's(legendary) stubborness.

"Sis, all father wanted me to tell you was that the Craftworld is preparing a few ships and staff for you, and you need to brush up on your Low Gothic. Autarch Mellis and I will assist you. But the thing is, dad really wants to talk to you. He's worried, you haven't talked to him since the celebration of your Path choice."

The younger one sighed, her frustration apparent in her body language, but replied before her brother could get in another word.

"Look, I'm completely fine. I'll lead as he asks. It's for the betterment of the Craftworld, and I'm not afraid to give up anything for my home. Even the part about speaking the language of those absolutely disgusting primitives, I'll handle it. I know my responsibilities. Maybe when I'm back, he can explain everything. But I can't talk to him, not yet."

The Warlock wondered why his sister, a former Thought-Talker who had served as ambassador to other Craftworlds along with some alien species, held such particular distaste for humanity. Not that he particularly condoned that disgusting, arrogant Imperium of theirs or their practices, but once in a while they showed some competence and even initiative(he didn't realize that most members of other Craftworlds would've burned him with witch-fire for that).

"That's fine. The others will be ready whenever you are, that's easy. Just promise me you won't put off visiting our father, all right?"

Seeing his sister flinch at that, he wondered for a moment. His runes had warned of something related to family and the past, but he hadn't been sure when the warning would come to pass, or what it was, exactly.

Now, he supposed, he had a clue.


The vote hadn't passed.

Citing lack of resources and possible backlash against such an established and storied(yeah, right) corporation over such accusations, the Senator had brought the Council around to postponing any such possibilities for a long time to come.

Instead, there had been the usual whining and ranting about Gateway Research's overall incompetence, the high point of which had been when the Federation Guard general had walked out in a huff(it was presumed that he needed a bathroom break and didn't want to admit it), before the subject was closed and slightly more productive discussions resumed.

"...Exactly how many systems we still have is unclear, but we have reestablished contact with 68 planets, and 52 systems are confirmed intact. Of course, there are other assets to account for."

The senator nodded to the Federation Navy Vice Admiral, who began to speak. A few choice images and lines of text replaced the space where she had been showing on the display moments before.

"Thank you. Our sector, if any of you didn't know, was the focus of a massive Federation Navy build-up in preparation for the arrival of Swarm Fleet D-07, which was detected out in deep space by the Vigilance sensor network."

Looking at her files, she continued. Several others in the room look primed to fall asleep, whether they were on the holodisplays or physically present.

"Considering our current situation, it may not ever be arriving. We have a large amount of transports and freighters on hand. Naval fleets Delta Prime, Delta Barra, Delta Charlie, and Delta Epsilon are all ready for action, although Delta Foxtrot lost its primary operating base, and with it all of its command staff and nearly all of its ships. Its assets will be merged into fleets Epsilon and Beta."

The Federation Guard general looked pensive for a moment.

"Jaden was a good officer. Always willing to lend a hand to us grunts on the ground."

The admiral wasn't so nostalgic.

"Don't get too sad about it, you'll probably see his sorry ass again once we get back from this place."

There were a few laughs, but the atmosphere was tense. The admiral finished with her summary.

"All in all, our shipyards and docks are ready for work, and we have 27 heavy ships ranging from carrier to destroyer classes. We also have a fully equipped Pioneer-class ship, the Free Will, and her accompanying support fleet. Each of the three fleets have a significant number of escorts and lightweights. Against any foe back home, such firepower would have crushed anything. We at the Navy are ready for action."

The general spoke again, before the Senator could leave his own comments.

"Damn, Free Will? That ship's won battles on its own, hasn't it?"

There were a few nods of agreement, and the mood in the room improved markedly, excluding those not really paying attention. One might have found it a miracle that their particular Council continued to function in the face of all their differences, whether between personalities or in opinions.

The Intelligence Affairs officer, being the skeptic, burst the bubble of goodwill that had just begun to form in the room.

"Against isolated, imbecilic, and self-destructive alien species, yes, it has."

She ignored the daggers glared at her across digital devices and considered her next words.

"Now, we cannot possibly know the true capabilities of the local peoples without proper scouting and a few scans, and that is what my agency shall be doing without further ado."

There was complete silence for a moment, as the others waited for her to continue. She didn't seem to be planning on it. As the pause grew awkward, the senator intervened and asked her a question, quite politely in fact.

"Is that all?"

"No. From stray transmissions that our analysts and the Engineers have picked up, the dominant power in this entire galaxy is the Imperium Of Humankind. As noted, their language is similar to ours. Interceptions frequently mention praise to a deity they call the God Emperor Of Man, as well as eradicating, and I quote, 'heretics and xenos scum'."

The Archivist shuddered. The last time anyone with the title of Emperor had power was in the early second millennium, when Earth's fractured civilizations almost set off a process that would see it wiped out in nuclear fire. Donald something, the man's name was.

Of course, the part mentioning the words 'heretics' and xenos scum' gave away a few things about Imperial culture, which was almost as discouraging as the subject of the divine 'Emperor'. Almost.

"I say we just send an invasion force into this Imperium, find out what they've got."

Everyone stared at the general, who suddenly appeared simultaneously annoyed and embarrassed, and the confused expression really didn't fit with the crisp uniform on those broad shoulders or the war-hardened man. He managed to get out a few words, though.

"I was just joking. Mostly."

The meeting dragged on, for an insufferable length of time.


Autarch Zella Mellis was having a horrible day.

"No, Irevel, that's the wrong order. You utilize your helmet emitters to scream at them, then you cut them up, not the other way around. And why are you asking me? Shouldn't you be asking Exarch Allena?"

A newly inducted Howling Banshee shifted uncomfortably in her armor.

"Well, I, uh, I may have accidentally, um..."

...

"Well what? I am not responsible for blubbering children on the battlefield, you-"

"Excuse me, Autarch Mellis, could I borrow some of your time?"

Oh, this was a much better development. They couldn't afford to have an audience for this though.

"Irevel. Leave to your shrine at once. We'll continue this conversation later."

The Howling Banshee retreated quickly, struck by the imperious tone of her orders. The two others in the room waited until the door had silently closed itself behind the Aspect Warrior, before the Autarch turned her attention to the Eldar next to her, and smiled.

"Are we doing formal titles today? Well hello then, Warlock Elvrad."

She giggled, like it was the funniest joke ever, before taking in the somber expression and armor set that her friend was wearing, and her mind turned sober instantly.

"Oh, this is about those new divinations from the Seer council, isn't it?"

Elvrad simply nodded.

"Oh, your father has already talked to me about that, don't be worried."

At that, the Warlock became confused, and decided to put voice to his concerns.

"Wait, so why did he send me here, If you already know what your task is and where we'll be going?"

She shrugged.

"Well, I suppose you could tell him that I'm up for it, especially if you're coming along. But since you seem to have a little bit of free time now, maybe we could make your sidetrack worth it."

She smiled and as she closed the distance with inhumanly graceful steps, Elvrad smiled a little bit as well.


Auraven Varsen flicked through the views that his Craftworld was sending him. Everything was where it was supposed to be, the very image of grace, splendor, and efficiency rolled into one.

Ships were being loaded in Vel'tan's docks, Aspect Warriors were training with each other and their Exarch leaders, his son was making out with an Autarch, an Artisan friend of his was repairing the lamp he had broken, wait, what?

He pulled back the images he had just dismissed, and went through them again.

Elvrad was in a relationship with his best friend's daughter? And he hadn't thought to mention that fact to his own father at any previous time? He had been suspicious of that possibility, but he hadn't thought there was an actual chance of such a thing.

His good mood evaporated like a friendly atmosphere in the presidential elections of ancient Nord Merica.

A/N: If you were wondering, yeah, the 'Engineers' I'm mentioning here are totally not related to the T-1000 or the Engi race in FTL, and they totally don't have a relation to that Necrodermis material.

Our venerable Imperium isn't going to make a showing just yet, and the Eldar, the resident Interweb trolls, are soon going to pop in and say hi. Although the usual greenskinned boyz may be introducing themselves in a rather distinctive manner. Hope you guys liked this, and I would love to hear what you guys think. Is it going too slow(aka would you guys prefer more action) or do I need to throw in more detail for the scenes or is the way I'm writing the dialogue confusing? Or is it okay, in which case I will simply drown myself under video game content and memes. Thanks!