Living to die

by Vengeful Soldier

On Krieg you are born with sins already weighing you down and the only way to redeem yourself is death in the Emperors service. A young Krieg nobleman joins the Korps, not to atone, but for revenge.

3. Chapter 3 Among the Stars

Among the Stars

AN: Sometimes I think that I'm putting in too many female characters in my story, but then again most of the time stories are heavy in male characters, sometimes exclusively so I think I'm balancing the gender scale pretty good. I think that I should say up front, or...sixty thousand words in that Erich's journey is going to span a few stories. Sometimes I think I ramble on things that aren't really necessary to the plot, so if I do it too much let me know. I usually don't ask for people to have OC's put into a story, but I mean I'm going to need a lot of filler and I have about a dozen characters to go through and stories for them, but with the length of these, I could probably have a few scenes or a chapter dealing with a couple of guys. So PM me if you have an idea, but I'm warning you right now, it could be a very long time before the character shows up. I'll send a message though if I decide that I can use them at one point or another. Also for those who like Phear, Elisha, Inquisitor Charles, or any other character, it will be a while before they're put back into the story. Sorry that this one took a little longer to put out, but school likes homework and studying to write a ground school exam takes a bit of time. One more thing to add to my list of excuses is that I've moved houses in the intervening months and for those of you who may not be aware, a piano is reaaally heavy.

Away, away, oh so far away, from home, from hearth, so far from all that we know. take heart, take joy, for away we go.

Away, away, oh so far away, through the stars, the flames, burning so bright, so far from all that we know, take heart, take joy, for away we go.

Away, away, oh so far away, full of life, love, and hope that we feel, so far from all that we know, take heart, take joy, for away we go.

Away, away, oh so far away, we tread, we fight, we give it our all, so far from all that we know, take heart, take joy, for away we go.

Away, away, oh so far away, we'll fall, we'll die, we've gave it our all, so far from all that we know, take heart, take joy, for away we go.

Away, away, oh so far away, we'll lay, we'll rest, in the peace that we've won, so far from all that we know, take heart, take joy, for away we go.

Away, away, oh so far away, don't cry, don't weep, we've won the Emperor's light, so far from all that we knew, take heart, take joy, for away we have gone.

It was a short song, a marching cadence most likely, but so very old. At one time, when Krieg had still had the right, its soldiers had sung it as they departed Krieg to destinations unknown. It was a sad song, of that there was no doubt, but the life of a guardsman, a Korpsman, often is. Very few, if any ever survived long enough in the guard to retire. Fewer still ever made it back to their home planet. For away, away, oh so far away, so far from all that we know, for away we go. A fitting song, but one that they weren't allowed to sing, yet still taught.

A-027 knew that he was ready, knew that he done everything right, but some nagging daemon of doubt still pervaded in him, making him believe that his equipment was flawed. That he would fail. A-027 risked a quick look that momentarily quelled the daemon of doubt. His boots were like a mirror, his creases were sharp enough to cut, his weapon gleamed in the light, and the slash marks across his mask were allowed. He was standing in a column of over 100 000 other Korpsman graduates, all participating in the mass graduation parade. After which, they would be assigned to regiments and given their final positions within the Korps. The parade was going to take the better part of the day and they would be under the scrutinizing gaze of enterprising regimental commanders. The idea of making an impression was near non-existent, but still. A-027 puffed out his chest a little as the brass bands began to play and the drums to beat. They marched under unfurled Aquilla banners, either side of the parade route lined by silent Kriegers. The cadence was like that of approaching thunder, washing over them inescapably like the web of fate.

The Governor's private viewing box was a very prestigious place to be. It was lush, roomy, and filled with some of the most politically and militarily important members of Krieg society. A representative from each of the 22 noble families were present, all except from the Von Shreider family. Their absence was the topic of polite conversation, but lost in lieu of the fine food and flow of drink that seemed never-ending. Smartly dressed servants served members of the ecclesiarchy, munitorum, ministorum, adeptus telepathica, and members of the Governor's own personal staff. Death Korpsman officers stood or sat quietly to the sides, awaiting the arrival of the parade.

The parade served a twofold purpose on Krieg. The first, obviously, marked the full graduation of the recruits to Korpsman and was their time to feel pride in what they had accomplished. The second, was to showcase the Korpsman to the new regimental commanders. On Krieg, there was a...shortage of senior officers and while many other experienced Korpsman could be promoted to lieutenant colonel or colonel, but sometimes there simply wasn't enough. So on occasion, rarely though, very rarely, a more senior guard officer was called in to command a regiment of Korpsman. One such colonel was already late and his soon to be commissar was less than impressed.

Jamal Osei brushed down his commissariat greatcoat, trying to remove some of the dust in his annoyance that seemed to gather perpetually on anything in Krieg. It was more than unprofessional to show up late for a graduation parade, it was downright disrespectful. Some of Osei's more strict, or hotheaded colleagues would have felt inclined to put a bolt round into the skull of the colonel for this, but Osei had learned that it was better to reason with the guardsmen and try to iron out any problems with them. It allowed a healthy working relationship, as well as advantageous to ones health. Commissars who decided to take the easy way out by using the bolt pistol as a first choice soon found the action reciprocated by the guardsmen under their command.

"Completely and utterly disrespectful," muttered Osei checking his commissariat hat, before returning it to his head. When Osei stood around he felt the need to do something, anything actually. He felt a need to feel like he was doing something useful, productive, and waiting for a colonel was not productive in the least.

"Did you need something commissar?" asked a voice to his side. Osei looked over and saw a grim Death Korps officer in full dress talking to him.

"No, just talking to myself," said Osei smiling, white teeth breaking the dark backdrop of his face. Friendly eyes set in a full face completed the smile. Among other things taught to Osei at the scholam progneium, was how to be friendly and reassure those under him. To be a figure to be feared, but also treated as a person to confide in. The Korps officer just stared at him for a moment, before turning back to the as of yet empty parade avenue and waiting for the Korpsmen to begin marching past.

The smile slipped from Osei's face, tucked away for later use. There was simply no use in trying to be friendly to these Korpsmen. Osei didn't even know why they even needed a commissar. They had the absolute lowest disciplinary or desertion rate in the whole of the Imperial Guard. It was useless to try and motivate them; songs wouldn't stir them to any great lengths and they would throw themselves at the most terrifying enemies of the Imperium at a word, without hesitation. There were regiments that needed a much higher commissariat presence, as long as it wasn't Catachan.

An engine roar interrupted Osei's thoughts and he looked to the outside of the viewing box behind them and saw a bright white staff limo accelerating towards them. It was rimmed with gold and the tires were white-walled.

Osei's hand was on his chainsword and bolt pistol in an instant, but before he could draw either the limo slewed to the side with a screech of breaks and even a little smoke. It stopped only several metres from the entrance to the viewing box and nearly a dozen ceremonially dressed grenadiers had surrounded it, hellguns raised.

The back door opened and a glossy black riding boot emerged, shortly followed by the rest of the man. Colonel Stanton. Osei couldn't believe his eyes. The man was dressed in the full uniform of the Praetorian guard regiments with stark white pants, crimson jacket lined with gold, and more medals than an entire general staff. He had a black tricorne hat and the biggest moustache that Osei had ever seen. Stanton's bulky augmetic hand waved cheerfully as he closed the distance rapidly towards them, heedless of the dozen or so rifles aimed at him.

"Colonel Stanton," said Osei incredulous, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Ah Commissar Osei, my boy. How are you? Well I hope, simply ghastly lighting down here, can't see a thing."

"I'm thirty-eight sir," said Osei less than pleased at being called boy, "and you're late." Colonel Stanton looked aghast, turning to the commissar, the look of a child who had just dropped its ice cream on his face.

"Are you saying I missed the parade?" asked Stanton, sounding mortified.

"No sir, but-"

"Then no worries!" replied Stanton enthusiastically, slapping Osei on the back with his natural hand. "Now where are the drinks, I do hope that they have something to keep me warm down here," said Stanton making his way over to the refreshment table.

"Sir, we really must discuss which regiment you wish to take command of," said Osei plying his commissariat trained discipline and resisting the voice inside of his head that was urging him to shoot the man, before he caused some sort of incident or something bad in general.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, yes, we'll certainly need to talk on that at some point," said Stanton giving Osei only a moment of attention, before returning his attention to the Krieg servant, complete with mask and white formal gloves. Osei felt a flutter of irritation at being blown off by the colonel. The first meeting with a guard officer was always the most important. Come down heavy handed if you must, but make sure they knew that they couldn't walk all over you.

"Give me the best you have, I'm feeling illustrious today and I want to celebrate," said Stanton grandly. "The sky's the limit for what I'm willing to pay."

"It's free sir," said the servant monotone.

"Of course it is!" laughed Stanton, his brown eyes alight with warmth and his cheeks flushed. He was a little pudgy, but he still passed the guard fitness requirements and that was what mattered, even if his belly did seem to age with him.

"Would you like to try Androsia's delight?" asked the servant politely.

"Why bring it out my boy, I've been dying to try that stuff." Stanton chuckled good humouredly.

"Sir This is very important that we discuss, you need to pick a regiment," said Osei more seriously.

"I know Osei, calm down lad. I do my best thinking and conversing with a drink in my hand."

"It's commissar, colonel, and I hope you can remember that," said Osei, steel in his words, tone all business. "I am your adviser, a motivator for the men. I am not your friend, nor am I your lad, boy, or any other nickname that you think of, are we clear?"

"Oh come now commissar, don't be a sourpuss. I get enough of that from these Krieg fellows here, glum bunch the lot of them, good guardsmen though," conceded Stanton. Osei felt a moment of shock that the colonel was blowing him off yet again, usually most guardsmen were respectful or fearful enough of the sash and hat to listen when a commissar spoke.

"Sir, your drink," said the servant holding a bubbling glass in one hand and the bottle in the other."

"Oh yes, quite right, quite right," said Stanton reaching and grabbing the bottle from the servant and turning to go.

"Sir," said the servant stern, but surprised.

"Oh yes, how could I have been so uncouth?" asked Stanton flashing a warm smile. He turned back and daintily plucked the glass from the servants other hand. "Drinking from the bottle like a beast is just bad form," said Stanton imperiously. "Bad form." He walked towards a red plush chair, leaving the servant standing stunned, arm still outstretched.

"Sir," said Osei voice sharp as a powersword. "You do realize that disrespecting a commissar of his Imperial Majesty's Guard is an offence punishable by death?"

"Yes, I've never quite understood why people are so thick-headed that they don't even realize that they're treading on such thin ice. The senior officers and commissars need to work together for the betterment of all, wouldn't you agree? It is simply ridiculous that so many of my colleagues have met an end like that out of pride. Such a waste, an absolute waste. " Osei felt like smacking the colonel for his stupidity.

"Colonel you don't understand what I'm saying and it's starting to annoy me," said Osei freeing the safety flap of his holster for added intimidation. He was growing quite tired of this man and his flippant ways that bordered on insubordination. Sometimes you had to let your absolute authority fall with the weight of an earth shaker round to let it be known.

Stanton looked thoughtful for a moment, before sipping gingerly on his glass and let out a pleased sigh. "Ah, now that's good stuff," said Stanton downing the rest of the glass. He was in the process of refilling it, when Osei had, had enough.

He drew his bolt pistol held it loosely at his side, making his threat clear for even the dullest of guard officers. The Krieg officers watched on with apathetic interest.

"Colonel, you fail to understand what I am saying, so I am going to make this perfectly clear for you and I will not repeat myself, do you understand?" asked Osei voice low and dangerous.

"You're wrong commissar, do you know that?" said Stanton swirling the refilled drink in his hand.

"What?" asked Osei, torn between anger and disbelief at the colonel's disrespect.

"I understand full well that you meant me and that you're threatening to kill me if I don't treat everything we do like a formal exchange, and you know what? I don't care. I've been a soldier a long time Osei, a long time. I've seen enough and done enough to drive a hundred men insane. I know what you mean, how you hold your pistol just so, your hat on just the right angle and I'm not impressed. You don't scare me, you can't. You're a basket of kittens compared to what I've faced. Oh, believe me you're intimidating. Broad, tall, skin like night, striking with your commissariat uniform, but ultimately not enough. The reason that I don't fear you Osei, is that I don't fear death. It's an old companion that's passed me over for a younger date. In truth I think that I want to die, but in the end I will anyways, that's the guard for you. I've lost too many friends, too many soldiers under my command to bear the thought of facing any other end. Why pray tell, do you think I'm here to be put in charge of a regiment from another planet? What pray tell, do you think happened to my last regiment?"

"They died?" asked Osei, already knowing the answer.

"To a man, some of them had served with me since the beginning. Forty years, from Praetoria all over every segmentum in the Imperium. We saw wonders, horrors, and everything in between the two. It was so heroic, the battles, the victories, the celebrations. We were heroes, they still are heroes," said Stanton seeming to sink into his chair. "They died, just like all of us eventually will. So sit back, have a drink, enjoy life while you can and don't threaten a man finding your depth. I must say though, I was given quite a fine chap in you. Most other commissar's would have blown my brains all over the floor."

"I still might."

"You might," said Stanton nodding his head in affirmation. "But how about we wait till after the parade hmm? I do wish to see what these lads look like in all their splendour, wouldn't you say?"

"I suppose I could wait until the end of the parade," said Osei, not really having intended on shooting Stanton anyways. He didn't really like shooting guardsmen unless their was absolutely no alternative. Having them think that you would though, was never a bad thing in itself.

"That's good, but commissar?"

"Yes colonel?"

"You really try this Androsia's delight, it is simply to die for." Then again, sometimes he was tempted. Osei saw Stanton stop a servant with a box of cigars and shove a handful into his pocket before putting one into his mouth, his augmetic limb producing a cigar cutter and then a flame to light it. Sometimes Osei was tempted a lot.

The parade was all that it was promised to be, and what it was expected to be. Brass and woodwind instruments put out an uplifting beat that was required to be played with graduation of any guard soldiers. The formation and drill was flawless, not a button out of place or a boot unpolished. It was as precise and as disciplined as anything else on Krieg. It was a fine showcase for the prospecting colonels to decide once and for all if they wanted a commission in a Krieg regiment. They were duly warned of the dangerous assignments Krieg regiments took on. Few ever turned down a commission, for most this was their last chance at a command. Some on Krieg disapproved of allowing off-world commanders taking control of their regiments, but the Krieg officer cadre had never been exceptionally large.

"Osei, do you see the large fellow in the front there? A real brute, a fine specimen of a guardsman. Just look at the size of him, and the scratches down his mask, are you sure that he's a recruit?" Stanton had a pair on magnoculars to his eyes and was focusing in on a very tall Korpsman in the front rank.

"It is a graduation parade colonel, so yes they are all recruits. I've heard that the final test for Korpsmen is much more, realistic then most other regiments," answered Osei.

"I want him," said Stanton flatly. "What regiment is he in? I want that one." Stanton was like an over eager boy picking a toy for his birthday simply by the picture on the box.

"Colonel Stanton, picking a regiment isn't just finding a single soldier you like and picking his regiment. There is a process, a procedure to picking your commission."

"Quite right," said Stanton pouring himself another drink. "So how would I go about picking my regiment?" Osei was getting a little worried for the colonel, he was drinking a rather lot of liquor for it being so early in the morning. But it was a parade, so maybe it was okay.

"Well I've got a slate here with all the different regiments that are available and the guardsmen that will be under your command."

"So out of curiosity's sake, could you find any guardsman that wanted in there?"

"I could do that, but I really don't think that it's a good idea."

"Just humour me Osei, be a sport."

"Oh alright. Let's see, front of the parade, from training company alpha, and he is from the 12th heavy siege regiment, assault and trench raiding."

"Ha, ha, huh, assault hey? Just the kind of man I want in my regiment."

"Says here that he assumed command of the final training exercise and tried to take over for the quartermaster. Says that he was talking down to his superior and doubting that there were no more survivors. It says that he tried to intimidate his superior," said Osei disapprovingly.

"A go getter, just what I like," Stanton turned to Osei a strange look coming across his face. "What do you mean survivors?"

"Like I said colonel, the Kriegers make things much more realistic." For a moment colonel Stanton looked his age and he leaned heavily against the gilded railing.

"Eighteen year old men, barely more than boys and they have them die in training? What has the guard come to? Have we run out of soldiers, so we send boys with peach fuzz between their legs to do a mans work? How about a guardswoman regiment?" Stanton laughed humorously. "Emperor knows that our women can apparently fight too. Why don't we just use more of them and keep our men at home to care for children instead of sending them off?"

"The age requirements are different on Krieg colonel."

"Oh, so they're in their twenties are they? I suppose that's better. I myself was only 19 years old when I joined, but I was from a proper military family you see. I was much better prepared for life in the guard," said Stanton like a man who enjoyed telling stories and would continue indefinitely until asked to stop; then either be offended or hurt at being told to stop.

"Actually they are allowed to join at fifteen. Fourteen with parental consent." Stanton didn't answer to that. He just kept watching the parade, his impromptu story forgotten.

"Commissar?" he said at length, the jovial tone gone.

"Yes colonel?"

"Put we down for the 12th heavy siege regiment would you?"

"Colonel I would recommend that you wait and see the Korpsmen for yourself, before you make a decision."

"I don't want to," said Stanton gruffly. "It's much easier that way, better that way."

"Easier for what?" asked Osei, but already half expecting the answer. Stanton looked back over his shoulder at the commissar.

"To send them to their death of course. I'll have to do it eventually. Cheers," said Stanton draining yet another glass. "And here I thought that this would be different. What can I do with children?" They watched the parade for a time before Stanton spoke up again.

"Commissar Osei, I don't want you thinking that I'm some kind of fatalist or melodramatic. Usually I'm far more upbeat and far less depressing, though ever since I've landed on this planet, its felt like an oppressive weight has been put on me you know? I mean just look at this place," Stanton gestured vaguely around him. "It's a most deplorable place to train, not to mention live. I mean my dogs live in better conditions than this."

Osei was only half paying attention to what Stanton was saying, more so paying attention to the Kriegers who were giving Stanton their full attention.

"I mean who would want to live in a hole in the ground?" continued Stanton oblivious to the hostile looks he was getting from the Korpsmen. "A hole is where you relieve yourself or bury things that you don't want to see anymore. Then again who would ever want to see this place again? Come to Krieg, where happiness comes to die." Stanton laughed profusely at his own joke, a great belly shaking guffaw. "I could see why they would use this planet as a training ground though, once you came here you'd be willing to charge into the eye itself if it meant that you didn't have to come back here. Wouldn't you agree commissar?"

"I think that we should go colonel," said Osei in a far too level voice.

"Hmm? Why? The parade isn't anywhere near done and I haven't finished my drink," said Stanton holding up his glass for viewing.

"Colonel, your glass in empty." Stanton looked at his glass and made a sound of alarm. He quickly refilled it from the bottle.

"Bad form to leave a glass empty during a celebration, especially bad form. Almost as bad as the masks these fellows wear. Look at me, I wear a mask, I must be a robust stone cold killing machine, ooh," said Stanton draining his already refilled glass.

"I think that it would be advisable to leave," said Osei noting the now openly hostile looks that the other Korps officers and now even the nobles were giving the colonel.

"Are you saying that you want to leave?" asked Stanton tipsily. "But the party's only just starting my boy. Look, my glass is empty again. Fancy that. I could have sworn it was full a moment ago."

"You can refill it in the car."

"But I might run out," said Stanton refilling and draining his glass yet again. The mans tolerance for alcohol was astounding, but Osei was half certain that Stanton had been drinking before he had even come to the parade. "Come to Krieg, where the only sunlight you'll find is in your dreams." Stanton laughed again while Osei cleared his throat and flexed his fingers, watching the other Kriegers who to a man were looking at them now.

"Sir, if you wish to leave, you can take whatever you want from the refreshments table," said a formally clad servant walking up to colonel Stanton.

"Oh no, I couldn't leave in the middle of the parade, that would just be bad form," said Stanton.

"The Death Korps officers assure me that it would be fine if you leave," replied the servant immediately.

"Are you sure?"

"They insisted on it," said the servant as Stanton lit a cigar.

"But it just seems-"

"I insist sir," said the servant.

"Anything I want from the table you say? Anything at all?"

"Take whatever you like, so long as you leave."

"Aha! I knew you Kriegers couldn't possibly as barren as your world or women in your hospitality," proclaimed Stanton in drunken cheer. A Death Korps major actually stood from his chair, hand flying to his holster, before a look from Osei stilled him. After a minor stare down though.

When Osei looked back, Stanton was already at the refreshment table picking out the vintage that he wished to take with him. Apparently unable to make up his mind, he grabbed an armful of bottles off of the table and began to walk back towards his limo, his loot in hand. The uncorked bottle of Androsia's delight leaking the entire way out. Osei felt immensely embarrassed and wished to disassociate himself with the colonel entirely. However, he just couldn't stay mad at the man. His jovial attitude and almost naive way of doing things made him seem like a child who didn't know any better. The man was a competent leader, of that there was no doubt. His Praetorian's had won many battles for him and he had fought in some of the toughest fronts in the Imperium.

Still, it seemed like the toughest battle to be faced would be keep him alive in the presence of his own peers.

Osei followed the colonel out and had the dubious honour of helping load all the swag into the limo. As Stanton entered the limo, the cigar dropped onto the trail of Androsia's delight and it burst into merry flame, leading back to the viewing box. The grenadiers managed to stamp it out and spray it with enough fire extinguishing materials that it never reached the viewing box. When they were done, the limo was long gone.

"I know this wonderful gentleman's club down by the spaceport that I know you will simply love commissar," said Stanton, a cigar the only thing in his hand at the moment, finally having decided that he didn't want anymore liquor. "Do you have a headache commissar?" Osei was rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger roughly.

"No, I don't have a headache," said Osei stiffly. "Do you have any idea what you just did back there, any idea at all?"

"I had a smashing good time," proclaimed Stanton. Osei resisted the urge to strangle the man.

"What kind of gentleman's club is this anyways?"

"It has the loveliest ladies you will ever meet and it is the most prestigious kind of club that I am sure we will both enjoy and wish to venture to." Stanton got a far too happy look at his face and let loose a pleased chuckle. "And there is this one girl whom is simply marvellous."

"A high class gentleman's club at the spaceport?"

"Yes, why do you ask?" Osei fixed Stanton with a stare that let him know that he didn't believe him in the slightest.

"It's a fine club that we'll both enjoy and want to go to with a mainly female employment record," edited Stanton. Osei didn't look away.

"It's a club that we'll like to visit with a mainly female employment. It's a club that we'll like to visit that the women who work there don't wear a lot of clothes. It's a strip club that we'll both like to go to. I want to go to a strip club," said Stanton, his last answer Osei finally accepted as the truth. Osei sighed wearily.

"It's going to be a long day."

After the parade was finished the new Korpsman were put into their new regiments and given their new designation. A-027 became obsolete and his new official title became, HS-0817-0012-5-2-1. Or 12th heavy siege regiment, 817th trooper, fifth battalion, second company, first platoon. For day to day purposes it would be HS-0817, or 0817. If things were extremely informal.

There would now be a two week grace period in which the Korpsmen could return home if they so chose to close any remaining ties that they had. Not many chose to take part in it, but some did and 0817 planned on taking full advantage of it. He was looking forward to seeing, with a momentary surge of panic 0817 discovered that he couldn't remember her name. What was it?

He began listing everything he knew about her that he could. Silver hair, no blond. Hazel eyes, like the colour of the wood that lined the halls of the Von Shreider estate. It started with an e. Erika? No, that was wrong. Emily? No, that wasn't it either. 0817 wracked his brain and eventually it hit him like a hammer blow. Elisha. How could he have forgotten anything about her? How could he have forgotten something so simple if even for a moment? It was soothing though, remembering her name. It lifted the net of panic he had cast about himself and acted like a salve on his mind.

"Excuse me, I need to get by."

"This trooper is sorry," said 0817 stepping to the side. He had been standing in the middle of the hallway and blocking the way for the other Korpsman. He walked on quickly and efficiently, heading for the tram station for his last visit to his family. The same visit that 0817 intended on making.

He hefted his 50 kilogram pack onto his back with one arm and secured the straps. He wasn't allowed to retain his rifle in the general public and it left him feeling a little vulnerable. 0817 wished that he was an officer or at least a sergeant so that he could carry a pistol on his person, but he wasn't and personal weapons were not allowed in the Korps.

He set a quick pace down the corridor, generally ignoring what was going on around him, but checking the travelling text on pict screens built into the wall to see if there was anything terribly relevant to him that needed attention. It was mostly just day to day announcements though, training schedules, news from Krieg hives, and an interesting story about the Adeptus Mechanicus building a new facility on behalf of an unknown beneficiary.

So focused was 0817 on his progression that he nearly ran over an Imperial Guard Commissar, and a short one at that.

0817 stopped immediately and came to attention, snapping a sharp salute.

"Ma'am," said 0817 holding the salute. The commissar was a small woman with blond hair just above her shoulders and keen blue eyes. She actually seemed surprised that 0817 was in front of her.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't see you," said the commissar looking up from a book in her hand and smiling. "It's only cadet commissar though." She walked past 0817 and took about ten steps before realizing that 0817 hadn't moved and was still saluting where she had been. She walked back up in front of him, a perplexed look on her face. "What are you doing?"

"Saluting you ma'am," replied 0817.

"Oh," said the commissar seeming surprised again and slightly wide-eyed again and saluted him back. The millisecond that her arm started to descend, 0817 snapped his arm back down to his side.

"Have a good day ma'am," said 0817 moving around her to continue on his way.

"Why were you saluting even when I wasn't in front of you?" asked the commissar to 0817's back. 0817 turned around quickly worried that he had attempted to leave before the commissar was finished speaking to him and hence liable for punishment for breaking protocol.

"Imperial Guard regulations state that a salute must be held until it is returned by a superior officer, or commissar unless circumstances make it detrimental to ones duties or conflicts with battlefield conditions ma'am."

"How long were you going to hold it?" asked the commissar still seeming surprised.

"Until you returned it, or for the recommended Korps period ma'am."

"How long is that?"

"Two hours ma'am." Surprise seemed to be the default expression on the young commissars face.

"Why?" The simple question took 0817 off guard and for a moment he was too stunned to speak. The answer seemed so simple to him that it shouldn't need to be explained.

"It's the rules," he finally stammered out. "Any less than that and this trooper would be disrespecting a member of the the Emperor's commissariat and that is unforgivable. Ma'am," he remembered to add.

"So you're saying that you would have stood there for two hours if I hadn't returned the salute?" asked the young commissar as if trying to make sure that she had heard correctly.

"At a minimum ma'am." The commissar cadet shook her head and chuckled to herself as some joke known only to her.

"I should have asked to be put in a Krieg regiment," she said amused.

"Cadet commissar. If This trooper may enquire, what regiment did you get assigned to? Ma'am." The smile left her face and she said it so quickly and mumbled it that 0817 didn't catch it all.

"This trooper is sorry ma'am, It didn't quite understand what you said," said 0817 politely.

"Catachan," she said still lowly, as if afraid of being overheard.

"This trooper understands that they have an outstanding combat record ma'am, it most be an honour to be amongst them."

"Yeah an honour," repeated the cadet commissar half to herself. "If I can actually find where they are." Her face lit up as if a great idea had just struck her.

"Hey, we're here on a layover between deployments and I've gotten a bit lost. Do you think that you could show me to quarters, B-28?"

"This trooper would consider it a privilege to assist a member of the commissariat," said 0817, feeling important and loyal for helping the young commissar cadet.

0817 led the cadet commissar down twisting, winding, and confusing corridors that made up the central Korps command and training structure. He cleared the way for her and occasionally had to get her attention when they had to make a turn, so involved was she in her book.

"Can I ask you a question?" asked the cadet commissar.

"Of course ma'am, this trooper will answer any question that you ask."

"Why do you refer to yourself as I, or this trooper?"

"It is standard procedure amongst Korps personnel and especially newly trained Korpsmen ma'am. It takes the focus away from the individual and makes them realize that they are merely a tiny gear in the larger machine that is the Korps."

"Oh, um okay, that's neat, I guess. Sounds really, different. Good though," she said quickly.

"Thank you ma'am."

"What is your name anyways?"

"This trooper is known as HS-0817-0012-5-2-1, ma'am." The cadet commisar looked at him oddly, actually giving him her full attention.

"Do you have a shorter name that I can call you by? You know, a regular name?"

"Of course ma'am."

"That's good, what is it?"

"HS-0817 or simply 0817 if you wish ma'am," said 0817 happy to be educating someone about the Death Korps.

"Sounds good," said the commissar after a moments hesitation. "My name's Walker, cadet commissar Walker," she said pulling down the brim of her hat with one finger in a theatrical way and laughed a little.

"It is good to meet you cadet commissar Walker, would you like this trooper to carry your bag for you ma'am?" She raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"No that's okay," said Walker. "Just how old are you anyways?" she asked finally trying to size 0817 up through his Korpsman mask and armour.

"This trooper is 16 standard years ma'am." The commissar actually stopped and looked at him for a moment, pity or sympathy, it was unclear which was showing. After a moments hesitation, she kept walking.

0817 felt a strange urge to please the commissar and be in her good graces. He walked by her side down the corridor lost in nostalgia for a while, from a different time.

"I don't mean to bother you, but why are there those gouges in you mask?"

"This troopers equipment was damaged in training ma'am."

"Must be some pretty hardcore training regimen huh?"

"Yes ma'am, 1/3 of this troopers company failed to meet expectations and subsequently failed."

"I didn't know that the Korps allowed guardsmen to fail or drop out," said Walker surprised. "How did they fail?"

"They were unable to complete training."

"Okay, but why were they unable to complete training?"

"They died ma'am. Thirty-eight were a result of the graduation mission, two were the result of plasma heavy weapons training, and one was killed by this trooper in unarmed combat." Walker's eyes widened in shock.

"You killed a guardsman in training?" she asked, disbelief straining her words.

"It was a training accident and this trooper was found to be free of any charges or guilt."

"How did it happen if it was an accident?"

"Krieg Korpsmen are not allowed to hold back in any way during training and this trooper broke his opponents jaw and caved in several ribs in his chest, puncturing the lungs and heart. Death was instantaneous."

"And you're 16?"

"Recently ma'am, this trooper did its training while it was 15 standard years." The look on the commissar's face worried 0817, she seemed disappointed at him or something he had done. He was worried that he had offended her or perhaps broken some protocol that he had forgotten. He never quite got his answer though, because they had just reached the Catachan billet. 0817 briefly considered leading Walker on an unnecessary loop to continue talking, but he quickly dismissed the thought.

"Well, thanks for taking me here. I'll be sure to write a favourable letter to your CO."

"That will be unnecessary ma'am, this trooper was privileged to help." 0817's chest swelled a little at the praise from the commissar. Praise was rare in the Korps, if ever given at all and it made 0817 feel good to get it.

"Yeah, well you should be going now, I've got to get back to business, you know how it is. Busy, busy, busy," said Walker flashing a quick smile, watching the rooms behind her, eyes darting around every once in a while at the different rooms.

"Are you sure ma'am? This trooper has nothing pressing to do and would be more than happy to help you with your tasks," said 0817 wanting to continue helping the commissar.

"No it's okay, it's commissar stuff anyways. Real important things too, so you have to get a move on. Come on, go, go , go," said Walker actually pushing 0817 out of the Catachan billet.

"Hey Amy, what the hell is this report about me gambling?" Walker hung her head and sighed.

"Damn," she muttered to herself before turning around. The Catachan guardsman was easily 0817's height, but with far more muscle, and an improper uniform complete with a red headband. He didn't seem to be too friendly of a person, but that was irrelevant. He was disrespecting a commissar and 0817 wanted to speak up, but he wouldn't belittle the commissars authority.

"Well, you were gambling on duty," said Walker. "And I have to give some repor-"

"Pfft, that's grox shit and you know it," interrupted the Catachan.

"I have to give reports about some things or else-" The Catachan had a sudden coughing fit.

"I have to give some reports or else," tried walker again only to be interrupted by the Catachan again who had another coughing fit.

"They'll get suspicious," said Walker hurrying to get the sentence out.

"Yeah, well now I don't get to go drinking in the hive or the canteen," complained the Catachan. "So the real question is how are you going to fix it?"

"I can't," said Walker. "The reports already in and I can't change it now." She shrugged her shoulders at the Catachan. "I guess that you're just going to have to live with it Braxon, there's nothing that I can do." The Catachan advanced quickly on her and loomed over her with his bulk.

"No I don't," said Braxon quietly, but angrily. "This isn't something that I have to live with. What you should be concerned about is if you'll be able to live with this decision." The colour drained from Walkers face, her authority as a commissar seemingly forgotten. 0817 couldn't understand why she was putting up with this kind of disrespect, or the threat. She could just execute him on the spot and be done with it.

"Well, um I guess I could write a report saying that you've demonstrated extreme discipline and volunteered for extra duties, or, something," said Walker trailing off with the Catachan towering well over a foot above her and at least twice as wide.

"You guess?" asked Braxon.

"I meant that that's what I'll do, I just need to write it out. I should be have it done for tomorrow."

"All right I guess I can give you a day, just make sure that it's done on time hmm?"

"It'll be done," said Walker looking down. Braxon knocked her hat off with a lazy swipe.

"Watch your step next time bitch," said Braxon. "And actually look at me when I talk to you huh? Little coward." 0817 felt an extremely intense wave of anger flood through him as Braxon put hands on cadet commissar Walker. He didn't know why the commissar was allowing this to happen, but he wouldn't. He had seen enough. He broke protocol by putting hands on a commissar, but he wasn't thinking about that at the time.

0817 grabbed Walker by the collar of her greatcoat and pulled her behind him protectively, almost possessively, drawing himself up to his full height and looking Braxon straight in the eye from behind tinted lenses, interposing himself between the commissar and the guardsman. 0817 practically radiated anger and dangerous intent.

"You disrespectful scum, you dare lay hands on the commissar after insulting her? You dare to even insult her? You aren't a guardsman, you aren't worthy of such a prestigious title. This trooper cannot fathom how you haven't been executed yet for your horrendous behaviour," spat 0817 vehemently. "You're a disgrace to the uniform." The Catachan raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Who's this aquilla scout? You're new pet hound? Daniels gonna be pissed that you traded him in Amy."

"Calling a commissar by their given name is a breach of article 22 and punishable by five lashes," said 0817. The standard discipline for disrespecting a commissar is five lashes in article 23, for insulting a commissar is a further five in article 24, and the price for striking a commissar is death. Under article 70, all of which are under commissariat protocol and procedure. " Braxon laughed in his face.

"Just what do you think little Amy back there is gonna do?" asked Braxon mockingly. "I'll tell you what she's gonna do, she's going to run back to Daniels, sit in his room, and read her romance novels saying how mean we were to here. She hasn't tried to be any kind of a commissar since Zoran. Ain't that right Amy? Whatever did happen to your old mentor by the way? I forget now, all I remember was that it was a pretty painful way to go." Cadet commissar Walker stayed quiet and 0817 couldn't understand why.

"A guardsman can enforce a commissar's will if they so ask," said 0817 tightening his hands into fists. A grin split Braxon's face and 0817 was surprised that it gave him a compulsion to wipe it off his face with a fist.

"You threatening me, wind up? I thought that you Korpsman were anal about everything that you did. Run out of asses to kiss?"

"This trooper does not threaten, but is more than capable of defending itself and detaining you with ease."

"Oh really? Well make a move because, 'this trooper,' thinks that you're all talk." Braxon held his arms out wide, inviting a blow and revealing his Catachan Fang, more short sword than knife. "Well? I'm waiting."

"This trooper will not initiate hostilities, or else it will be at fault for what happens to you," replied 0817 monotone, but wanting nothing more than to teach Braxon proper respect.

"What is this? Playground at the scholam? Well," said Braxon holding up a single extended finger. "I guess I'll make the first move gas sucker." He slowly and mockingly extended his finger until it brushed against the flak armoured chest of 0817. The second Braxons finger touched 0817's chest, a flak armoured fist connected with his jaw.

There was a clack of teeth and Braxon staggered back, rage colouring his face even as another fist became acquainted with it. Braxon bellowed in anger and threw a return punch that whistled over 0817's head like a heavy mover tram, but received a narrow cut down the length from the spike atop his helmet.

0817 sprang up from his crouch and drove fist into Braxons stomach, aiming for the solar plexus. It was like hitting solid rock, the Catachan was pure muscle. Braxon grunted from the hit, then brought his knee into 0817's face. 0817 staggered back head ringing, barely having enough time to block another strike.

"Stop this right now!" shouted cadet commissar Walker. 0817 dropped his hands and stance standing up straight assuming that Braxon would do the same. He didn't. A kick from the large man drove the air out of 0817's lungs and threw him against the wall.

A ham sized fist made 0817's head rebound off of the the wall with an audible clang and made his head swim. 0817 realized that he had been fighting like a regular guardsman and that if he wanted to win, he would have to fight how the late lord general had taught him. He would also have to disobey a commissar if he wanted to walk away from this in one piece. But he had stopped and he had still been struck, so technically he was only defending himself.

Braxon came in again and 0817 demonstrated his advanced training by taking him in the side of a head with a kick, rotated onto his other foot and then kicked his again while he was off balance. Braxon staggered back, blood dribbling down his face, murder in his eyes. He drew his fang.

"Throne dammit Braxon, I said stop!" shouted Walker again, this time angrily, her eyes blazing. She seemed to be a dog yapping against two fighting bears. Men were starting to emerge from the rooms down the hall, most all of them Braxons height and all had a red bandana on their heads.

0817 dodged the first slash of the blade by leaning back, and the second by sidestepping and hitting Braxon with a back fist strike. Rather than being stunned by the blow, he struck immediately and tore a long gash down 0817's arm. Blood burst forth and ran down his arm and onto the floor. The famed knife easily penetrating the light armour on his arm. Still reeling from the slash; his arm on fire, 0817 was unprepared for the knee that connected with his groin, turning his legs to rubber. Braxon slammed him against the wall and drove his blade into 0817's face.

0817 had managed to slow Braxons thrust with his free hand, and his mask managed to make sure that the blade didn't enter his skull. It still got at his face though. Through the pain, a red rage took over and 0817 kicked Braxon back, wanting to kill the man now. Braxon came again with the fang, but his old fighting techniques came back easy to 0817 now. He caught Braxon's knife arm in the crook of his arm and struck the elbow with his free hand.

The arm broke with a sharp crack and Braxon cried out in agony, even as 0817 kicked his knee forcing him to the ground and took away his fang. He raised the blade high, blood staining the end, fully intending on driving it into the mans neck. A las crack split the air and 0817 stopped mid strike.

Cadet commissar Walker since the first time 0817 met her looked every bit of her sash and hat. A smoking las pistol pointed towards the roof and an idling chainsword in her hand. She had her peaked commissariat hat on and her eyes just showed below the brim, radiating authority.

"I said, that was enough," she said slowly and lowly. She flicked her eyes over to 0817. "The knife, drop it." The Catachan fang hit the ground with a clatter. She turned and focused her attention on the assembled Catachans' filling the hallway. "I don't expect you to fear me, hell I don't expect you to like me, but you will listen to me when I have something to frekking say. I am a your commissar whether you like it or not and you may think that I don't belong with you and that I'm useless, but guess what? I'm not going anywhere so you had better get used to me. And you," she said turning to Braxon, cradling his broken arm. "If you ever threaten me again, I'll personally tie you to the post and have you lashed till I'm sure you're dead. Then have them give another 20 for good measure." She walked over to Braxon and crouched down, bringing herself level with him so that he was forced to look her in the eye.

"And if you ever, ever, bring up commissar Antolo again except in mourning, I'll take little Braxon away." Walker revved her chainsword and the mono-carbide teeth raced around the blade with a satisfying whirr. "Understand?"

"Yes," said Braxon weakly.

"Yes what?"

"Yes commissar," said Braxon.

"Good boy," said walker rising. She turned to 0817 and pointed at his with her chainsword. "And you."

"Me?" said 0817 fearful that he was going be reprimanded or punished.

"Yes you," said Walker. "You don't tell anyone about this, understand? I'll deal with it."

"Yes ma'am," said 0817 relieved. Walker looked at the 0817's wounds.

"Tell the medicae that you were hurt in knife training okay?"

"But isn't that lying ma'am?" asked 0817 confused.

"Are you questioning my judgement?" asked Walker, finger tapping on her las pistol. 0817 clicked his heel together and stood at ramrod attention.

"No ma'am. This trooper was hurt in mock knife combat. There is nothing else to the story."

"Good, now go get that looked at," said walker watching the blood dribble down 0817's arm onto the floor. "Dismissed." She watched his march away and away from the Catachan billet. "Someone get him patched up," said Walker referring to Braxon, resting her chainsword on her shoulder and walking into the crowd of Catachan, pistol swaying at her side. They actually parted for her too. For the first time in a long time, she felt like a real commissar. To hell with the Catachan fragging commissar's, she wasn't going to jump at the mere mention of their name anymore. "And someone get my book," said Walker without looking back. She had to get to her room soon though, or else she didn't think that she could keep herself from smiling much longer. Damn this felt good.

Walker entered her office that also doubled as her private quarters and hung her pistol and chainsword on the coat rack, along with her combat belt. She flipped on the light and started walking over to her desk to finish up the last couple of data slates that she had to go through. For once it was only a couple instead of a mountain. The Catachan colonel couldn't be bothered to do his own work, so it invariably found its way onto her desk.

A pair of large hands grabbed her from behind and a loud growl broke her contemplation. She yelped in fear and almost jumped out of her boots.

"Got you," said a deep voice behind her.

"Dammit Daniels that wasn't funny," chastised Walker, her heart still hammering. "I could have shot you."

"With your gun by the door and screaming in fear?" Walker tried to think up a witty response, but only one came to mind.

"Shut up, I could so have gotten you."

"I'm sure you could have Amy, so what was that deal with Braxon anyways?"

"It was amazing," said Amy excitedly. "At first he was being a huge ass to me like always, getting mad at me for writing him up for gambling on duty. And he called me a bitch," said Amy angrily. "And he made fun of my books too. I went through all the trouble to find them in paperback and he made fun of them."

"Okay, but back on track what happened."

"Oh, well I had this Death Korps kid who's like 16 and he got really mad at Braxon and got all in his face. He was all like you're disrespectful scum and Braxon was all like bring it, so the kid hit him in the face."

"Amy, Amy, calm down. You talk too fast when you're excited," said Daniels trying to calm her down. Amy exhaled heavily and breathed deeply.

"Okay, I'm calm. Anyways, they got into a fight and they were throwing each other all over the hallway. I yelled at them to stop and the kid does and puts down his hands. But then Braxon hits him, so they keep fighting and then the kid did some kind of martial arts kick. He got cut up pretty good though."

"He gonna make it?"

"Well he was able walk away so I think he was okay. I just hope that he doesn't give any specifics about what happened or else we could be in trouble. I haven't exactly been winning commissar of the year around here, you know? I do feel bad that he got cut up though, I should go check on him later."

"How bad did Braxon get him?"

"A slash on the arm and a stab in the face, but the kid broke Braxons arm. I had to stop the kid from killing him. You should have seen it, I was in control of it. Braxon was actually scared of me and for once, the other guys actually moved when I walked through them. There was no standing in my way, pushing me around, or any of that kind of stuff. I was a real commissar and it was awesome," finished Amy enthusiastically.

"So miss real commissar, what's your first order of business?"

"Well," said Amy looking over at her desk. "Paperwork."

"Anything else interesting happen to day?" asked Daniels.

"Well," said Amy thoughtfully. "I threatened to cut Braxon's dick off. What?" there was a look of utter horror on Daniels face that she had never seen before. "It's not like I would actually do it. Well, unless he really pissed me off of course."

"Remind me to never make you mad," said Daniels looking at the seemingly innocent chainsword hanging on the coat rack.

Despite being sick to his stomach, the trip to the infirmary went fine. 0817 had been worried, intensely apprehensive, that the medicae orderlies would question him as to how he had become so injured. His answer of a training accident had seemed pitifully weak and transparent. Nevertheless it had worked. The orderlies had taken it at face value and just assumed his nervous sweat and being more pale than usual was a symptom of his wounds. The pain was fierce, but nothing that 0817 couldn't handle, especially after the Korps training. You just had to focus your mind on something else and above all, have a strong will.

His arm had been stitched back together and was wrapped in gauze. He would have a lazy hooked shaped scar, but otherwise he would have full control of it once it healed properly. The wound to his face had required synth-skin to patch the hole on the inside of his cheek and some vat grown tissue to pack in the hole. The scar would be about three fingers wide and he was lucky that the blade hadn't damaged the inside of his mouth or teeth. His face might be a little mottled on the left side, but his real concern was that he had been delayed. The gauze wrap would not allow him to wear his mask which was okay because he wouldn't be going anywhere near the surface, but it left him a little nervous to be walking around without his mask on. It felt like a piece of him was missing and it left him on edge.

The lights were brighter now without his mask and he could smell the filtered but not filtered air. Stale, cold, and smelling of antiseptic and age. The only colours were varying shades of white, grey, and black, cast white or yellow light.

0817 shouldered his pack again, favouring his injured arm and once again began heading for the tram station. The air felt different without his mask and 0817 could actually feel the air flow against him. His face felt fat and numb from the freezing and his arm felt like a lead weight for the same reason.

0817 almost made it to the station, before a priority message broke the usual blue scrolling text with a flash of yellow. The 12th heavy siege regiment was being sent out immediately along with several other regiments to a war zone in need of reinforcement. All leave was cancelled.

The "Emperor's Emissary," was a bulk troop transport and heavy cargo hauler. It was an ageing ship, but in naval terms that usually meant that it was better. 0817 had been issued his rifle again, but as of yet his mask was still being repaired and the quartermaster had chastised him for damaging Korps equipment in training. By all means tear yourselves to pieces, but as soon as any equipment was damaged it was the end of the planet. It was a bit of a let down to know that the equipment was valued more than your life, but as long as you could serve the Emperor would know your true value.

Their packs were deposited in a rolling conveyor belt and to their displeasure, their weapons were taken by naval arms-men to be stored in the ships armoury until they reached their destination. A short briefing about ship protocol and that there were licensed mutants aboard in addition to the regular serfs who would be handling baggage. There were some protests of outrage from some other regimental officers and soldiers, but the Krieg guardsmen remained silent even though they felt the same anger as the other guardsmen. As long as it was approved, legal, and not explicitly against the Imperial Creed, Krieg would raise no objection about any regulation.

After the briefing by a dark skinned void born with violet eyes, the guardsmen were given their billets and listings. 0817 found that the deck had been filled and he would be one of the only Korpsmen on the deck below.

On his way to the lower levels, he passed the Catachan billet. He saw two naval arms-men carrying a bloody third between them and a Catachan rippling with muscle cleaning his fingernails with the tip of his blade and leaning against the bulkhead. From what 0817 had learned from his tutors, the Fang held an almost religious significance among the people of Catachan. From the looks of things, the arms-men had attempted to relieve them of their fangs. It didn't look like the Catachan had taken it that well.

In the lift, 0817 had his first look at the serfs aboard the Emperor's Emissary. They were of all different shapes and sizes and all of them were void born. Their clothes were cheap and roughly made, little more than long drab pieces of cloth thrown over them for decencies sake. They looked dirty and slightly malnourished and 0817 wished for his mask now more than ever. There were mutants on the elevator too.

They were grotesque things, some of indiscriminate gender others a mocking parody of one. They came in conceivable shape and combination or cross of limbs and amounts. Some resembled walking reptiles, others fish. Horns, hooves, claws, talons, webbed limbs, too many limbs; eyes, mouths, and ears where there shouldn't be. 0817 felt bile rise in the back of his throat and a strong desire to be free of this mutated menace. They smelled far worse than the serfs, but had the purple eyes of the void born serfs. The warp affected all living things indiscriminately, no matter of race, gender, species, or intelligence. It was the glue of the universe, the continuation and beginning of all things.

The words came unbidden to 0817's mind and he shook his head to clear it. It seemed that his secret tutors teachings were still quite prevalent in the scheme of things.

Despite the differences in appearance, the mutants and the serfs both huddled to one side of the elevator away from him. 0817 was sure that was a good example of dramatic irony. Or was it situational because he knew why? His old language arts tutor would have no doubt called him stupid for not knowing and then informed him of the answer. They were all carrying the bags of guardsmen and 0817 wondered whether or not a mutant had his bad. He really hoped that wasn't the case. A mutant with four arms and a single large eye was carrying four Imperial Guard rucksacks.

The lift door opened and 0817 was the first off and he hurried to find his quarters. 0817 was surprised at the diversity of the Imperial Navy crew as opposed to the Imperial Guard. While a regiment from a world was all from roughly the same gene stock, the navy seemed to draw from everywhere. Fair haired and tall crewmen worked beside squat and tanned muscular crewmen. A woman with almond shaped eyes and jet black hair directed a cart, while a dark skinned man pushed it. That was another thing too, the men worked and fought alongside the women. It was a far cry from Krieg where nearly everyone was identical once in their suits and it made him a little apprehensive, out of depth. He was missing his mask and especially would have liked it on the shuttle ride up. 0817 was sure that his complexion had been a little more green than normal and his mask could have hidden that. He didn't know how anyone could enjoy flying, it was terrible. At least there had been no windows inside the shuttle.

Walking down the hallway, he saw a serf struggling with a Korps rucksack. It was his. Worrying that a mutant might come along and attempt to carry it to his room for him, 0817 hurried over to the elderly serf woman.

When he was close enough, 0817 cleared his throat trying to get her attention. A small, young woman with white hair and the features of a void born whirled around to face him. She was cleaner than some of the other serfs and wore either a neck warmer or scarf, 0817 wasn't sure. She looked fearful of him. She actually almost looked like a Krieger, probably never have stepped off the ship and 0817 felt an instant kinship towards her. A rock of familiarity in a landslide of change.

"My bag," said 0817 extending arm outwards intending to carry it himself.

"I-I'm taking it to your room sir, just give me a little more time please." She looked underfed and had the furtive, timid look of the other serfs 0817 had seen. They all seemed to have trouble meeting his gaze. Then again it could be that they had to look up, or maybe his, condition.

"You're having trouble with it," said 0817 plainly in his normal tone of voice, trying to be as nonthreatening as possible. If at all possible it caused the woman to become more fearful of him and actually cower before him. She had some fading bruises in the exposed pieces of skin that he could see and she was far too skinny to be healthy. Not quite a walking twig, but definitely underweight.

"Sorry, j-just give me another chance, I can do this," pleaded the serf. 0817 actually felt kind of bad the whole situation and didn't really know how to explain it without either coming off as even more intimidating or pretentious. 0817's cheek began to itch again as it had since the freezing had started wearing off some hours ago and he reached up to scratch it.

"Don't hit me," said the serf shrilly, throwing up her arms for defence. The flashback was so real and intense, that it actually felt like a physical jolt. 0817 stood stunned for a moment and had to blink before he came fully back.

"That was never my-this troopers intention. All this trooper wanted to do was carry its bag to help you." The woman had seemed on the verge of tears before and now seemed to be looking at him in surprise.

"You want to help me? But, why?"

"You need help," said 0817 picking up his bag with one arm and shouldering it. "For this trooper, that is all the reason needed."

"You," began the serf as if not knowing how to continue. "You don't care about any of this," she said gesturing upwards at herself disbelievingly.

"You are a servant of the Emperor are you not?"

"Well, yes, I worship the Emperor with all my soul and I like to think he cares about me as much as anyone else."

"Than this trooper see no problem with anything." A wary look came upon her face, but she still had trouble looking directly at him.

"You're not making fun of me are you? You're not, well you know, just trying to mock me or anything?"

"Why would this trooper do that?" asked 0817 perplexed.

"Well, most people wouldn't look twice at me because of what I am. And if they did it would probably be to throw things at me or spit at me."

"That's simply unacceptable," said 0817 outraged. "The Imperium is built on the backs of its devoted servants. To ridicule you or anyone like you is an intolerable injustice. It doesn't matter who someone is or what they are as long as they are law abiding and devoted servants of the Emperor."

"You, you really believe that?"

"Of course," said 0817 surprised. After all, as long as someone wasn't a heretic, mutant, psyker, xeno, or Emperor forbid a combination of them, there was no reason to despise them.

"I'm Gina," she burst out suddenly, the timid air still around her though. It reminded 0817 of Elisha and how she had been picked on by the other servants and he took an immediate liking to the void born serf.

"0817."

"What?"

"0817 is my designation."

"Isn't it a little strange calling yourself a bunch of numbers?"

"No," said 0817 simply.

"Well, I've got to go, more bags to carry you know," she said rubbing at her scarf.

"If you wait until this trooper drops off its bag, it will help you with your task," said 0817 wanting to make up for frightening the poor girl.

"Well, okay," said Gina falling in step beside him. 0817 got some strange looks from the regular crew and serfs, but especially the grotesque mutants walking past. He glared at them and they looked away quickly. He noticed that Gina didn't have any shoes and her feet made a soft pitter patter on the deck, while his boots made a pronounced clomp with every step.

At an intersection, 0817 looked at his billet information and Gina took a quick look at the number and began leading him through the crowd with an astonishing speed, partly due to the fact a 6'6" Krieger dressed in full combat uniform was directly on her heels, who also gave off an aura of light malice, or so he had been told.

They soon made it to a less travelled corridor with not nearly as many people coming to and fro. A result of them entering the living quarters area. The only real difference in the living area was that the doors were smaller and there were more of them closer together. The colour scheme was pretty much the same as the rest of the ship and the only way to know that it was a living area at all was by the numbers above the doors and a small sign at an intersection. Even on Krieg, they used different colours to show the difference, even if it was a variation of hazard colours or warning symbols.

A reptilian mutant with green scales and elongated snout saw Gina and swiftly made its way over despite the glare 0817 gave it. Its eyes were deep set and purple, surrounded by bony ridges. Its scales were hexagonal shapes that look discoloured in some places and a lizard like tail sprouted out behind it. It was made more grotesque by the fact it had a single malformed human leg below the knee that it hobbled along on, while its more reptilian one seemed to be whole and healthy. If a mutant could ever be called healthy and not an abomination.

"Hey sweet gene, how's it goin?" asked the mutant to Gina. 0817 felt the urge to bat the mutant away, but Gina seemed to know it so he let it remain. For the moment. Even still, it was revolting being so close to a mutant and it made his skin crawl.

"It's going twisted grubb, s'what you be needing?" replied Gina immediately and easily, switching to the mutant's slang without difficulty. 0817 was surprised, but if you lived around mutants long enough, you would probably pick up on some of the speech, as horrid as it was.

"Just come round to collect on s'those extra yum cards."

"I don't have the good eagle right now, so I's wondering if I can get some more ticks to get it together?"

"Sorry sweet gene, but Grubb needs to get s'his grub too, ya know? I be needin the good eagle now. You ate them yum cards and now you gotta give back."

"I can't do that Grubb, you know I ain't got the eagle you need," said Gina with all the will of an addict gambler asking for an extension on the pay deadline.

"No roll sweet gene, but suppose you could get the good eagle by workin. You look near straight edge and them stompers do get s'lonely on dees star trips." From the look on Gina's face, 0817 could tell that what the thing had said offended Gina, especially if the cross look on her face was anything to go by.

"You be knowin that I don't be workin like that. I work with s'these hands doing shiny work, not riding them stomps for eagle. This twist has got good feel for itself," said Gina forcefully. Why she was talking like the mutant was beyond 0817 though, or why it was even worth her time.

"Now don't be s'actin all straight edge now sweet gene. You needs to pay the good eagle and you've got the strand for it," said the reptilian creature as it ran a hand over her chest. An angry retort was halfway out of Gina's mouth before 0817 acted.

He had been tolerating the mutant long enough, but when it laid its filthy claws on Gina, his irritation and loathing turned to anger and hate.

0817's hand shot out and grabbed the mutant around the throat and brought it around, slamming it against the bulkhead. Its feel dangled several inches off of the ground.

"S'what this about? You gots a taste for twist stomp?" asked the reptilian mutant before 0817 tightened his hand around its throat, cutting off its air supply. It choked and kicked its legs in the air.

"Listen here, you repulsive creature," began 0817 low and menacing. "If you ever lay hands on Gina again I will make you regret the day that your miserable existence began." 0817 tightened his grip so that only strangled gasps of air escaped the mutant as it clawed futilely at his arm. "If this trooper so much as suspects that you have even thought about doing sexual things to her it will remove any instrument that you might do so with. It that clear?" 0817 got a strangled garble as a reply, the mutants nostrils flaring and eyes bulging.

"Stop it, you're killing him!" cried Gina desperately. 0817 fixed her with a stare from his grey eyes and she took a half step back from him. Realizing his violence, 0817 released the mutant and it fell to the ground choking.

"What be your crink stomp? You want to plow twist meat, that's none o mine concern. Jus that this sweet gene owes me for dem yum cards," said the reptilian mutant wheezing.

"Are you okay Grubb? I'm really sorry about all of this, I didn't know that this guy was like that. I can get you your money by next week if you need it, I'm sorry that it's late, but I can't do that kind of work. I just can't," said Gina swooning over the creature. The reptilian mutant shook her off and stood.

"Why's you be flappin like sum stomp?" demanded the mutant, yellowing teeth showing in its animal-like mouth. "You be thinkin that you too good for us twists? That s'because you look straight edge you is? You ain't no twist o mine and you ain't ever gonna be good enough to be a straight edge. Jus make sure I's get them yum cards you be s'owing me." The mutant walked away, throwing hateful looks at 0817 as it left and he gave them right back.

"Your room's this way," said Gina quietly. She led 0817 through the halls to his room. It was a cramped room, with just enough room for a metal framed cot and a small footlocker at the end of the bed. Amazingly, there was a cheap fabricated metal desk next to the cot that he could write at if he sat on the bed. 0817 set his pack down, looking for his ration bars, having been forced to miss supper with the unexpected mobilization.

"I'll be going now, you don't have to help me with the bags," said Gina turning to go. A growling stomach distracted 0817 and he turned to see a trace of either embarrassment or shame of Gina's face.

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm fine," said Gina defensively. 0817 tossed her a ration bar that she caught on reflex. She stared at it like it was gold, but turned on him angrily. "I don't need your pity and I don't need your charity. I don't need you throwing food to me like an animal at a zoo. I'm not an animal and I'm not worth less than you so you can shove your goodwill up your ass!" the last part seemed to catch even Gina off guard and her face changed as if she feared that she had said something that would earn her a lash from the naval disciplinary officer.

"This trooper didn't mean to offend, it thought that it was sharing with a friend. If it is mistaken and you are not hungry then by all means give it back. If not, this trooper will be more than happy to share in the future." Gina looked at the ration bar and then at 0817.

"I'm not taking this out of charity," said Gina slowly. "I'm taking this because it's a gift from a friend. I don't want you thinking that you're helping a poor twist to make yourself feel superior, okay?"

"This trooper understands," said 0817. That seemed to be all Gina needed to hear before she ripped open the ration bar and ate it so fast 0817 wasn't even sure that it had been there in the first place. She ate it with her hands shielding it from the outside and close to her face as if afraid that someone would take it from her.

"I'll see you later," said Gina wiping crumbs from her face. "I've still got some work to do today, want to meet for lunch tomorrow? Not that I'm trying to get more food or anything," she added quickly.

"That sounds agreeable, where would you like to meet?"

"Um, I'll find you at noon ship time tomorrow. Well, see you later," said Gina walking away quickly.

0817 spent the ten minutes packing his things away properly and making his bed to Korps standard. He found that when he turned the electro light on overhead by its pull string it hurt his eyes. He had thrown up his arm and shielded his eyes from the light that most people would have called dim. Living in a low light environment for generations the People of Krieg had developed superior low light vision, but as a draw back even moderately bright lights hurt their eyes if viewed unshielded. Hence the tinted eyepieces on their mask. For the next minute 0817 blinked the spots out of his eyes as he sorted through the rest of his bag. At the very bottom of his bag he found something odd.

It was a dull metal box with the Von Shreider family crest on the lid. It was odd, because it hadn't been there when he had packed his kit prior to leaving Krieg, or the main complex. There was a gene scanner on the side and curious, 0817 put the box on the desk and pushed his thumb to the scanner. After the blue light travelled across his exposed thumb, 0817 put his glove back on and opened up the box. The box was actually a miniature cogitator and the bottom of the lid was a screen. The front pulled out into a keyboard and the runes were made of burnished metal and appeared brand new. The screen blinked into life and after a moment, changed from a black screen with rolling white text to a feed of his mother. Or at least a recording.

"Hello Erich, I hope that you are doing well," said the recording. It was Erich's mother sitting in a high backed chair in a hardwood floored room with two of her handmaidens standing behind her, hands clasped. "I am sorry that you were unable to come home for the brief time you are allowed, but as you know far too well by now the Korps cares for nothing but its schedules. I watched the parade from the viewing box and I must say that it was most impressive. I know that you are an adult now and part of the Korps as well, but I would ask you not to neglect your studies. I have enclosed many different lessons for you to do in this cogitator and I hope that you find the time to do them in between your training. A strong mind compliments a strong body, so I hope that you do not neglect intellectual pursuits in this venture of yours. I would also ask that your private tutelage be expanded upon at a time that you are able." She seemed uncomfortable for a moment before continuing.

"If at any time you find that life in the Korps is more than you can bare or perhaps you tire of it you are more than welcome to return to our estate. I know that you have made your decision and I respect that, but I just wish for your options to be clear to you. You're still very young and I just hope that you made the decision to join out of a pure desire to serve and not for revenge alone. Revenge will only sustain you for so long. Regardless of my feelings about the matter, you have a duty to uphold. Von Shreider's have always served with distinction within the Korps and I expect no different from you. You must uphold our family name no matter where you go. Like we have taught you Erich, money flows like water and is as easy to get as dirt for those who know how. It is the reputation and prestige that is hardest to maintain. It can take generations to build up a respectable name for yourself and only a single errant act to destroy it all. I know that this is asking a lot of you, but I would ask that you do more than just survive in the Korps. I would ask that you regain the standing we lost when your father died. And, do be safe son. On a side not I have enclosed a credit chip with a modest some of money on it. If you find that you require more, you must only visit one of our establishments and ask."

The video feed cut to a picture of the Von Shreider crest and 0817 touched the brand on his right arm subconsciously. On one hand he had his duty to the Korps and the Imperium at large. On the other he had a loyalty to his family name and those whom had cared for him. At the moment both goals were similar if not the same. He hoped that they wouldn't one day differentiate enough that it required him to make a choice between the two.

0817 finished unpacking and laid down to sleep, not even feeling the transition into the warp that usually caused even the most hardened of ship crewman to feel a moment of nausea. Sometimes there was a benefit to being an untouchable. This time in the form of uninterrupted sleep.

The time aboard the Emperor's Emissary for the most part was uneventful, especially during the first few weeks of the voyage. The only real problem was the trouble sleeping that most everyone had while travelling so close to the warp, protected by the teardrop shape that was their gellar field which kept the daemons and creatures at bay. This problem was countered by the ships medicae issuing sleeping pills to the guard regiments on board the six kilometre long ship. The naval personnel were used to travelling in the warp and poked fun at the guard, saying that they needed their beauty sleep because they sure as hell weren't getting any prettier. There were some fights between the naval crewmen and the guard regiments, Catachan leading by a clear margin. There was a fight recorded between a Krieg Korpsman and the naval crew, but it was a single isolated incident and written off to jitters at travelling the warp for the first time.

"So Numbers, what made you decide to become a stomp in the first place?" asked Gina taking another bite of the high calorie ration bars that 0817 kept supplying her with. She didn't eat them like a starving animal anymore, actually eating them like a regular human being now. She had started putting on more weight during the voyage and didn't resemble a walking twig so much anymore. They were sitting on a metal ledge overlooking one of the hangars in the ship and watching routine maintenance being done on some of the shuttle craft.

"Well, this trooper joined to serve the Emperor and his holy Imperium and to defend it from any and all threats," answered 0817 slipping a ration bar under his newly returned mask.

"So you weren't conscripted?" asked Gina looking at him with a set of pale purple eyes questioningly.

"No, this trooper volunteered."

"Come on Numbers, you can tell me if you were. Lots of guardsmen are conscripted into the guard. It's not shameful to be conscripted."

"This trooper is being completely honest, it volunteered for the guard."

"Right, so you're telling me you signed up to go and fight giant space monsters with a flashlight?" said Gina leaning in close to his mask.

"No, with a lasgun," answered 0817 perfectly serious. Gina burst out laughing and doubled over.

"You crack me up Numbers," said Gina wiping tears out of her eyes.

"Do you require a medicae?" Gina let loose another belt of laughter.

"You know, despite you being the most serious person I've ever met, you're not half bad to hang around with," said Gina when she had calmed down. "Though I am curious as to why you spend time with me. Most people avoid twists like they're the plague."

"Well you don't seem to carry any diseases and this trooper has nothing better to do after training."

"Are you saying that you only hang out with me because you have nothing better to do?" asked Gina a cross look on her face.

"Well, yes. This trooper does its required training and studying, then it has to make up for all of its free time. It sees spending time with you an agreeable solution." Anger flashed across Gina's face and she stood up sharply.

"So that's all this has been to you? Just passing the time in your day? Just hang out with the twist because you have nothing better to do?"

"This trooper supposes that you could look at it like that."

"You're unbelievable Numbers," continued Gina angrily huffing.

"No, it's actually very believable, quite logical in fact." Gina looked at 0817 sharply and let out a hmpf of annoyance.

"Well I guess that you're going to have to find something else to do to pass the time Numbers." She walked away stiffly leaving a very confused Korpsman sitting on a ledge.

Gina walked down the halls of the ship angrily, and thrust her hands into the self-made pockets of her threadbare clothes. Served her right for trying to be friendly to a stomp, they were all users one way or another. She felt the coins in her pocket that equalled the half-crown that she owed to Grubb and took them out to look at them. It was the most money that she had ever had at one time and the only reason that she had been able to get it was that she had been able to start selling her food ration cards and doing extra errands for ship crewmen.

It was cheaper to hire a twist than a serf to do errands and her mutation was hidden by the rough grey fabric that covered her neck. Gina found that she was tolerated more by people if her mutation was out of sight and out of mind. She was lucky in a way, instead of having an extra limb or head she had gotten just a little mutation. It was enough to be labelled a mutant though and not have the rights of an Imperial citizen. Gina had gills.

Six to be precise, three on each side of her neck that stacked up on top of each other. They worked too, which was the deciding factor in her being labelled a mutant. If they had been defunct, they could have been removed by a well trained medicae, but since they did work it meant that there were other bits inside of her that helped it work. So she was labelled a twist and sold for twenty crowns. A fortune for most twist labour. That was one thing that she learned early on being a mutant, you didn't call yourself one. It was 'twist' because your DNA was twisted wrong. Mutant was a dirty word and something that you didn't say. You weren't mutated, you were twisted. There was a difference. If you were feral and ate other twists or people then yes, you were a mutant. If however you had your mind about you then you were a twist.

Gina saw three of the crews arms-men ahead walking down the hall and kept her head down. It wasn't uncommon for a twist to be beat just because and the arms-men either allowed it to happen or more often than joined in on the fun. If she stayed to the far side and kept her head down, she could pass for an indentured servant. She had done it before it had worked well enough. So long as she didn't draw attention to herself.

When she was walking past them, whether through nerves or having forgotten to hold on tightly enough, a coin came free from her grasp and pinged off the deck and rolled. It was a quarter crown piece and the largest one out of the bunch. She had gotten it for shining the duty warrants boots every evening for a week. It was a heavily vied after job and she had been lucky to get it for as long as she had. She only had two arms though and Wiggs had four. He did it in half the time for less.

Gina went after the rolling coin and stooped to pick it up when a navy issue boot slammed down on top of it. Gina looked up into the grinning face of Wilkins, one of the arms-men most known among the twists as being particularly sadistic towards them. He also knew that Gina was a twist.

"Hello sir," said Gina meekly.

"Well by the throne, mutants can talk. I guess that you can teach animals parlour tricks huh?" said Wilkins, making a big show of it.

"Yes sir," said Gina hoping to take the little bit of degrading and just be on her way. This was everyday life and if you wanted to keep living it, you kept your head down.

"So why are you standing here mutie? Don't you have work to be doing or heresies to be committing? You know, like living?" The other two arms-men laughed at this and it caused colour to rise in Gina's face. "What's the matter there mutie, body falling apart cause the sludge you sleep in finally wearing off?"

"No sir, I was just wondering if you could let me get my money from under your boot."

"Oh, This?" said Wilkins removing his boot and holding up the coin.

"Yes sir."

"A whole quarter crown piece," said Wilkins holding it up to the light. "Now how did you ever manage to get something like this hmm? Mutants don't get this kind of money unless they're up to something illegal. Are you up to something illegal mutant?"

"No sir, I got it for polishing warrant Zhu's boots." Wilkins leaned in close to her face and scrutinized her as if trying to decipher if she was lying or not.

"Sure you didn't do a little whoring for it mutie? Your pal Grubb set you up? Riding s'them stomps for good eagle?" asked Wilkins mocking the twist way of speaking. Gina felt her anger boil over at not just being called a whore, but also for Wilkins mocking her and other twists.

"Frak you, I worked for this money you bullying bastard!" Gina would never admit it, but she had a temper and it had gotten her in trouble before. Being a twist didn't help as people were far less likely to forgive a twist as they were someone who was normal. With the dark, angry look on Wilkins face, she knew that she had done it again. An apology was halfway out, when a backhand sent her to the ground. She felt dizzy and tasted copper in her mouth as she stared at the ceiling. She felt her hand pried open and her coins removed. Gina saw Wilkins standing over her and jingling the coins in his hand. When he was sure that Gina was looking at him, he threw them into a heating vent. They clanged as they fell down the ventilation tubes. Two months of scrimping and saving, gone. Just like that.

Gina was getting to her feet when Wilkins put his hands around her throat and started choking her against the bulkhead. Panic set in and Gina tried vainly to get free, but Wilkins had murder in his eyes and didn't loosen his grip even when Gina's face began to match her eyes. Fearing for her life, Gina bit Wilkins on the arm as hard as she could. With a cry of pain, Wilkins drew back clutching at his arm and Gina drew in glorious amounts of air.

"The mutant bitch bit me!" cried out Wilkins outraged. "Look at that, that's blood! She's trying to infect me with something I just know it. Who knows what kind of diseases she's carrying. By the throne, I might lose my arm because of this. Stand her up, stand her up now! I'm going to teach her a lesson," said Wilkins seething.

The two other arms-men picked Gina up under the armpits and held her against the bulkhead. Wilkins pulled a close fighting knife and advanced on Gina, nursing his hurt arm. He grabbed the fabric surrounding her neck and cut it off, exposing her mutation. The gills opened and closed with the contact with the air on reflex.

"What, trying to be normal by hiding the fact that you're a mutant? Think that people wouldn't notice that you're a freak? Well I think that I'm going to help you with that," said Wilkins pulling out a lighter and with a flick, produced a high blue flame. He held it under the blade of the knife, turning it a bright cherry red. He held it up and put it close enough to Gina's eyes to make them water. The heat radiated from the blade and it filled her entire vision. "I think that I might just close up those gills for you, make you normal. Would you like that? Want me to make you normal?"

"No," said Gina piteously, her voice cracking.

"Well don't knock it till you try it mutie," said Wilkins as he drew the knife back. Gina closed her eyes as he thrust the knife forwards. She felt, nothing. No pain, no burning at all. Gina opened her eyes and saw a very large flak armoured fist holding Wilkins arm at bay.

Wilkins had just enough time to look surprised before the fists partner connected with his face, laying him flat out with a small spatter of blood. The two arms-men dropped Gina and attacked Numbers. Gina hit the deck and looked up in time to see the Korpsman deflect the arms-men's punch and deliver his own, then sidestep the others attack and strike the side of his knee for a wet cracking noise that made her flinch. The arms-men fell to the ground clutching at his leg and screaming, just as his partner drew his auto pistol.

Numbers batted the auto pistol up and it discharged into the ceiling, spraying high velocity, low penetration soft slugs into the ceiling. Numbers grabbed the auto pistol and twisted it out of the arms-men's grasp before pistol whipping him in the side of his jaw for a sharp crack. Gina was sure she saw the side of the arms-men's face cave in. He fell like a box of ingots.

A click was clearly heard over the melee and Gina looked over to see Wilkins, his nose flattened and bleeding, was holding an auto pistol aimed at Numbers. Numbers fired a burst from his auto pistol first, taking Wilkins auto pistol away and most of his hand. Wilkins pistol fired after being hit and put three rounds in the calf of Number's right leg. Numbers fell like a sheared support beam, while Wilkins clutched at his mangled hand and screamed.

Gina ran over to the felled Korpsman and helped him to his feet. Blood oozed from the wound in his leg and turned the fatigues on his leg a darker shade of black, even as it ran down his leg and boot onto the floor in bright streams of red. He leaned heavily on her and seemed to be breathing very heavy and laboured. She was surprised that he wasn't screaming in pain.

"Oh Emperor are you okay Numbers? I'm so sorry that this happened. Let's get you to the medicae right away, they'll fix you up. Oh throne, that's a lot of blood, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"It was...not your fault...Gina. You were...attacked and this...trooper...defended you. There...is no...blame on...your side." His speech was strained and forced, spoken very deliberately as if he focused any less, it wouldn't be speech at all, but grunts.

"Come on, you need help," said Gina leading him away from the wounded arms-men. 0817 looked down to thank Gina, but noticed the slits in her neck. At first he was worried that he had been too late and the arms-men had done something to her, but then they flexed. Gills. Gina was a mutant. 0817 pulled away roughly from her and staggered off to the side of the corridor and leaned against the bulkhead, chest heaving with effort and restrained pain.

"What are you doing?" demanded Gina. "I need to get you to the infirmary right away. Come on Number's this isn't funny," said Gina tugging on his arm. "If I don't get you help, you might even die, those bullets break apart when they hit you." He pushed her away much Gina's surprise and spoke with loathing and condescension.

"Get...away from...me...mutant," forced out 0817 through his pain. Gina looked like she had been physically struck and the hurt was evident on her face.

"What are you saying Numbers? Why are you saying that? You knew. You knew what I was. You said it was okay." Gina sounded desperate, frantic almost in her words.

"I assumed you...to be a...serf. Not...an...abomination." 0817 brought himself up to his full height, heedless of the pain that it caused his leg.

"How could you, I, I," Gina's face contorted and she began weeping openly. She ran off down a side corridor and 0817 shuffle hopped down the hallway after putting a field dressing on his leg. He felt pain of course, the pain was very prevalent on his mind right now. He also felt a conflicting array of emotions inside himself, shame, embarrassment, anger, and a sick feeling like metal claws were extending throughout his body.

0817 was intercepted by a squad of arms-men wearing battle armour and carrying shotguns with flechette rounds. 0817 put his auto pistol on the floor without a fuss and did it very slowly and deliberately. He didn't resist as they put him in plassteel cuffs or irons on his legs. They took him into custody and to the infirmary under guard.

Commissar Osei was sitting in colonel Stanton's room, sharing a drink with him. It was only midday, but the colonel had offered and it was only a glass of wine. He normally would have refused, but he was just getting so bored and he couldn't hold a conversation with any of the Korpsmen besides simple answers or a yes or no. At least the colonel provided company that talked back. He was just so bored most of the time that being with Stanton at least passed the time. There was a sudden knocking on the door and colonel Stanton pushed the a rune on the wall, opening the door. A naval arms-man with a shotgun slung on his shoulder and combat armour stuck his head in the door.

"I'm sorry to disturb you sir's, but I need commissar Osei to come to the infirmary right away. He looked young and of low rank, as well as very uncomfortable talking to a high ranked officer and commissar.

"Has another of our Korpsmen been injured in training?" asked Osei wearily, tired of signing the release forms.

"No commissar, the guardsman in the infirmary assaulted three arms-men and one is in critical condition." Osei looked up energized, the shock revitalizing him.

"You're sure now? 12th heavy siege regiment? One of mine?"

"Um, yes commissar, he said that he was from the 12th." Osei rose quickly, donning his greatcoat and hat, eager to finally have something to do.

"Lead the way arms-men," said Osei trying to contain his enthusiasm. It really was bad getting this excited over one of his Korpsmen getting into trouble, but it was finally something for him to do. He had been getting far too bored just sitting around as of late.

He found the Korpsman with his leg bandaged and in a cast, on an infirmary bed under heavy guard from the arms-men in the room. He was a very large man, the bed having had to be extended so that his injured leg didn't dangle over the edge and he was wearing a hospital gown and bereft of his mask, or even uniform. He was unnaturally pale like the crew of the 'Emperor's Emissary' and had a new pink scar on his face and one that curled around his left forearm. He didn't seem to be in an inordinate amount of pain, but he looked much more uncomfortable since he had walked in. That was good, if a guardsman feared or respected you it made your job much easier. As long as that fear didn't turn to hate. Fear you could use, but hate. Hate was a raging fire that could, if properly handled be directed outwards at the enemy, but all too often that fire burst free and consumed you. You didn't want hate.

Osei walked up to the bedside, walking very deliberately and looking very displeased. The young Korpsman didn't look away when Osei looked into his eyes, but he was clearly nervous, already he could see a light sheen of sweat beading his forehead. He gave off a bad feeling that Osei recognized from having dealt with troublemakers before. The aura of danger and hostility, though it was strange to find it in one so young but not unheard of.

"Can you explain to me why you ended up in the infirmary Korpsman?" asked Osei casually, but with an edge just below the surface.

"This trooper got into an altercation involving three of the 'Emperor's Emissaries' arms-men sir," responded the Korpsman immediately. He had a very proper way of speaking and a well controlled voice, that still sounded arrogant to Osei.

"That will be commissar Korpsman, or have you forgotten proper procedure?" A twitch seemed to across the Korpsman's face and Osei saw his flex his hand nervously.

"Forgive me commissar, this trooper understands procedure and regrets making an error in speech." maybe he was a troublemaker, maybe not, but like any Korpsman he seemed to have the utmost respect for the sash and hat.

"What is your designation trooper?" asked Osei walking around to the other side of the bed, forcing the Korpsman to follow him with his eyes.

"This trooper is known as HS-0817-0012-5-2-1 commissar."

"Are you aware that you are the first Korpsman from the 12th heavy siege regiment to commit an offence and receive a reprimand?" asked Osei looking disapprovingly at the Korpsman. For the first time since they had started speaking, the young soldier couldn't meet his eyes and looked away in shame.

"This trooper was not aware that it was the first to break regulation and bring shame upon its regiment commissar. It is discouraged to learn this and will accept summary execution at any time that you feel it prudent to exercise the right. This trooper just regrets not being able to have been of more use to you commissar, it is sorry for its failure in its duty."

Osei actually had to stop for a moment and stare at the Korpsman in front of him. Had a 16 year old guardsman just asked him to shoot him to remove the stain on the regiments honour that he had caused? Was he willing to die just like that? Surely there would be a reprimand, he had attacked several members of the ships crew, but asking for death?

"Before I make my decision I must first ask why did you attack the naval arms-men?" The trooper was quiet for a long moment, so long that Osei was wondering if he hadn't heard him or was just refusing to answer. He finally spoke just as Osei was going to demand an answer.

"This trooper attacked the naval arms-men because they were assaulting a female member of the crew with a heated knife. This trooper acted without thinking and simply reacted to the situation. It made a mistake commissar. It acted based on emotion which is inexcusable. "

"It says here that you knew the crew member. Is that true trooper?" The young Korpsman didn't look at him when he answered, simply kept staring straight ahead.

"Yes commissar, this trooper knew the involved crew member and that is why it interceded."

"So you were defending a friend from danger Korpsman? Was she your friend?" The Korpsman seemed to hesitate before he answered, almost as if ashamed.

"At the time this trooper believed itself to be defending a friend commissar. After it became involved in the situation, it became aware of new details."

"Korpsman it is understandable that you wanted to protect your friend from being maimed, but there are consequences." Osei was actually kind of surprised at this case, usually Korps soldiers didn't have friends of any kind.

"She was a mutant commissar," said the Korpsman sharply, turning to face Osei. "This trooper injured Imperial citizens protecting a mutant. It only learned of this fact after the altercation commissar."

Osei didn't really know how to respond to that. He had thought that the young Korpsman had just found a girlfriend on the ship and had gotten into a fight over her. That was what the report had led him to believe and it had made everything make much more sense.

The Korpsman had become friends with a human looking mutant believing her to a serf or some other labourer aboard the "Emperor's Emissary," possible developing one of those scholam crushes or "ship" relationship's that develop in all guard regiments in transit. Obviously the Korpsman had valued her life enough to assault three armed men and not only beat them, but beat them badly enough to break bones and actually maim one of them. His fighting skill was impressive, but Osei had seen his type before, knew the feeling he got around one of them.

This boy, man, whatever legal legislation said him to be was an attack dog. He was one of those violent individuals who would get into a fight over any excuse and didn't care about those that he hurt. The one thing going for this recruit though was that he had collared himself. He was an Imperial attack dog, on the leash and under control. He was the docile killer, he could behave himself, be civil and be a damn fine guardsman, some of the best in fact. He would stand back and listen to his superiors like their word was the will of the Emperor himself. They would remain out of trouble and do anything that was required, any of the dirty or particularly dangerous jobs and once let off the least, you just had to watch.

Like the dog masters of Dumajin and their hunting dogs. As long as the dogs were well looked after, cared for, and trained they would never turn on their masters. It was when the dogs were left alone that they began to get into trouble. When there is no one around to offer guidance or tell them what to do, they begin to act however they feel and what will meet their needs. Trooper 0817 had shown up for all required training periods, but Stanton didn't allow them to train seven days a week all day like the Korps wanted to. He allowed five days full, one half day, and standing orders for rest on the seventh day. This left free time and in any regiment free time led to boredom and boredom led to situations like this.

It was his fault really, he had just begun to assure himself that nothing could possibly happen in a Krieg regiment, because nothing ever did. Osei did feel a bit of guilt though, he actually liked the fact that 0817 had done something wrong, because frankly, it gave him something to do. He knew that it was wrong to want things to go wrong, but dammit he was a commissar not a house sitter. He needed trouble to settle, even an argument from time to time would suffice. Still, the report from cadet commissar Walker about knife training seemed a little fishy, but it was bad business to start questioning other commissars.

"A summary execution would be too easy a way out," said Osei forcing the Korpsman to retain eye contact. "You have broken protocol, but because of the extenuating circumstances and the fact that this is your first offence, some leniency will be given to you. Do you raise any objections trooper?"

"Yes." for the second time since meeting the trooper, Osei was surprised. Was a Korpsman questioning authority?

"This trooper believes that no leniency should be given, discipline must be upheld at all costs even if it means the death of a Korpsman."

"Are you saying that you want to die Korpsman?" asked Osei very quietly. "That you would rather die over a disciplinary matter than fight the enemies of the Emperor?"

"No commissar, but-"

"Are you afraid trooper, afraid of what you might face in the galaxy? Worried about what you might find?"

"This trooper simply wishes that-"

"Are you a coward?" said Osei almost too quietly to be heard. "Are you afraid to serve?" The response was as instant as it was surprising.

"I am not a coward!" shouted the Korpsman, practically in his face. "I will fight, and I will die, but I will not run! I am a chip of the Emperor's hammer and I with crush any creature that opposes his will, or so help me I will die in the attempt!" There was real anger in 0817's eyes now, it looked like Osei had hit a sore spot with him.

"So you are willing to accept any punishment decreed by me as fair?"

"Yes I am commissar," said 0817 sharply.

"Good," said Osei turning to leave. "But you better heal up quick, because I think that you owe the Korps about eight clicks of running. Then another four for me. You do realize that you can't yell at a commissar don't you?" The Korpsman's face changed ever so slightly and if Osei had to guess he would say that he was surprised that he had broken yet even more regulations. There would be punishments, but Osei would go easy on him. After all, why kill the golden goose of disciplinary action?

For the next several weeks while 0817 healed, he was kept under constant guard by naval arms-men in the infirmary. He had to write letters of apology to the naval arms-men he had injured and had his pay suspended for six months. Once his leg healed sufficiently he began to have to report for disciplinary duties, usually pertaining to polishing other guardsmen's boots and cleaning sanitation facilities completely with his toothbrush. Needless to say, 0817 got a new toothbrush for personal use. He was also not allowed to go to any of the ships common rooms and had to run errands for the commissar or the colonel. Once his duties and training was done for the day he was confined to his room. Needless to say he had gotten off extremely lightly. Thankfully he had no rank to lose, but it could mean that he wouldn't be promoted as fast. 0817 sincerely hoped that would not be the case, for it would mean that he would have to wait much longer before he could wield a powersword. His powersword.

One pleasant thing that had happened was that cadet commissar Walker and a Catachan guardsman named Daniels had come to visit him several times while in the infirmary. Walker had been especially concerned about what had happened and how severely they were questioning him about his disciplinary problems. She had seemed relieved when 0817 had told her that the matter wouldn't be looked into further, or his past reports looked into and had told 0817 that she knew he wasn't a problem and that if someone ever started questioning him to come find her or Daniels. 0817 liked the visits and assured her that he would find one of them in the case of further questioning.

It turned out though that there is not really a great deal of work to do for a regiment in transit, especially one that likes to handle its own uniform and personal items. There was only so much work that could be done before there was simply no more to do. This problem was soon solved by lending 0817 to commissar's around the ship who had need of another set of hands or just simply a pack mule. 0817 gained a reputation as a dependable and obedient worker, as well as respectful among the commissar's around the ship. He was always on hand, there when needed, but not underfoot or in the way. It now benefited him to have grown up around servants and to have seen how they acted or placed themselves. They were always there, but steadfastly ignored unless needed or required to do something.

No further enquiries were made about the fight or any other reprimands made. 0817 had to check in with the arms-men on duty every time he went anywhere, but that was the extent of it. He never did find out what happened to the mutant Gina, but he never heard anything so he just assumed that it got resolved. If anything though, he should have been more concerned about the mutant population and what they were doing. The whole ship should have been much more concerned.

Gina was working again, she was always working. The ship paid its indents with ration coupons and a cheap base metal monetary system that was only good on the ship. It could be spent on second hand clothing from a third hand source. It could be spent on hygiene products of questionable origins or more likely it could be spent on getting more ration coupons. A lot of twists and regular indents spent it on obscura and cheap grain alcohol. Gina had managed to stay away from both of the two, because a twist out of mind was a twist out of a job, and a twist without a job was a hungry twist. Gina was not originally form the "Emperor's Emissary," but from a merchant ship named "Piety Ascendant." It had been a much better ship to be on and one where you didn't have to pay to get your food. The bunk rooms had been cramped and lacked privacy, but you got a bed and clean linen once a week. There had even been an hour long service everyday for the faithful and it was one of the reasons that Gina had as strong of faith as she did. It had been very good treatment for twists, but as anything twists are a commodity and traded as freely as foodstuff.

Getting Imperial Crowns was hard and they were highly sought after on the "Emperor's Emissary." Gina was one of the luckier twists in the way that she didn't offend the regular crew just to look at as long as she wore her neck cover. She knew she was a twist, they knew, but as long as it wasn't in their face, it didn't bother them nearly as much. So as a result she got some of the more sought after jobs and made just a little more than the average twist. A problem though, was that Gina was used to far more food than she could get on the "Emperor's Emissary" which had caused her to become indebted to Grubb. She had already been late when she had managed to get the money together to pay him back, before having it taken from her and now she was even more behind. She didn't even have half of it together yet either. She had been ducking Grubb for the past few weeks and had about half of what she owed him. She had been able to get some of the better paying jobs, but it had cost her and she almost always went to bed hungry. Grubb eventually found her like she knew that he would, because no matter how big a ship is, it is still and enclosed space and twists aren't allowed to change decks.

The metal floor was cold on her knees and the lights were harsh white, the air as always was stale and metallic with the harsh tang of cleaner. The air was dry and make her gills itch, but wetting her neck cover from time to time soothed them well enough. If she didn't keep her gills at least damp, Gina found that she would soon feel short of breath and have trouble breathing. It was supposed to have something to do with the tissue inside of her needing to stay hydrated or something to keep working and diffuse oxygen. She wasn't an adeptus biologis so she didn't presume to understand completely, but what she did know was that she had to keep her gills wet.

She had managed to get a job from a crew woman to scrub the hallway floor with a coarse brush and bucket of soapy water. Gina assumed that it was supposed to be a punishment duty for the crewwoman, but the woman was willing to pay Gina three hundredths of a crown to do it for her. Three whole pence! Most of the time, a job like this would only pay about a half, or if she was lucky, a full pence. It wasn't exceptionally hard work scrubbing the floor, but it did take a long time and made her stay in one area for longer than she liked. Gina didn't have Grubb's money yet and she didn't relish another confrontation with him.

With a last few forceful scrubs, the last stain in the stretch of hallway that she had to clean came free and left her stretch of the ship pristine. Gina rose rubbing at her aching lower back and went over to the crew woman, making sure not to make eye contact less she offend her. The crew woman cast her eyes over the cleaned hallway and seemingly satisfied, tossed Gina the worthless fortune. Gina managed to catch it and pocketed it quickly and made sure to thank her several times, before leaving. Now she just needed 22 pence to finish paying back Grubb. She had been hearing that he wasn't very happy with her and was looking for her. It would take at least a few more weeks to get all the money together and she had to keep working if she wanted to get the money together.

Maybe Gina was too eager to find another job, or maybe she was just lost in happy thoughts at having gotten such a large sum for doing a simple job. Either way, the reason doesn't really matter so much as the end result. Gina rounded one of the innumerable metal hallways in the "Emperor's Emissary," and very nearly ran into Grubb.

"Oh, s'what's topside Grubb?" asked Gina surprised and a little apprehensive. Grubb was with Thuke and Plev, two large misshapen twists from the cargo holds and made up for their lack of intelligence with rippling muscle. Grubb smiled as if absurdly pleased with himself and spread his arms out as if to embrace Gina.

"Where have ya been sweet gene? Old Grubb here s'was thinking that you'd switched s'decks on 'em. "Got sum oh my good eagle, or just sum hard clink?" He spoke friendly and openly, but Thuke and Plev moved so that they weren't quite behind her, but could easily block any escape route.

"Well Grubb, I's been doing some shiny work to get you sum oh that good eagle."

"That's what I like to hear sweet gene, where be s'my good eagle? Got it handy?" Gina felt her stomach drop and she rubbed at her arm nervously.

"I's got about half of what's I owe you. I had all s'the good eagle, but a clink took it and tossed it down the warm tubes." Gina shrugged apologetically. "Sorry."

Grubb chuckled lightly, his reptilian features splitting into a grin that showed far too many teeth. It sounded kind of like how a regular human would chuckle, but it hissed and wheezed as a human action was forced out of an inhuman body. For the first time, Gina noticed just how sharp Grubb's claws looked. Black and hooked, shiny as if polished and well manicured. They were filed into sharp points, each looking like they could hook and tear flesh with ease.

"Sorry?" said Grubb advancing to an uncomfortably close distance. "Well sweet gene, sorry ain't no goods no more's. People be talking real low, not just sum twists neither. S'those be saying dat Grubb ain'ts no good no more's. That Grubb's going soft and people don't be needin to pay there debts no more's." Grubb fixed Gina with a light purple eye set on the side of his head. The slit pupil now seemed so very foreign and dangerous. More than it ever had before. "How's you thinkin that be s'makin me feel?"

"Not, very good," said Gina clearing her throat nervously, looking into the looming reptilian face.

"No, it not be making me feels good at all. S'makin me feel angry, dark bad kinds of anger. Ya know?"

"Yeah's I be knowin the s'anger you be's feelin. As soons as I be gettin the good eagle you-"

"Why you flappin like some twist sweet gene?"

"Well, I's-"

"You ain't no twist oh mine and I be knowin you speak like dem stomps so how about you start flapping like one before I cut the parts that be letting you flap?" Grubb's voice was deadly serious now, there was none of the friendly banter or the twist camaraderie. Gina had heard that Grubb could be ruthless when he needed to, had been before Gina had been bought by the "Emperor's Emissary," or so she had been told. She had never seen anything bad done by Grubb though, never heard of anything being done since she had come onto the "Emperor's Emissary." That didn't mean that it hadn't ever happened though.

"Okay Grubb, well, what do you want?"

"S'what do I want?" chuckled Grubb in his hissing laugh. "I s'want my good eagle and you be getting it to me or I's be sending a message." Thuke and Plev closed in behind Gina menacingly.

"What kind of message?" asked Gina feeling very uncomfortable.

"I's be sending the permanent kind," said Grubb clacking his claws.

"Okay, uh, I'll have your money by the end of the week I promise," said Gina quickly.

"Promising ain't no good no more sweet gene, I s'want my good eagle by the end of the cycle."

"But, I can't get it that fast," protested Gina.

"Then you's best be gettin it if you s'want to be stayin pretty sweet gene. Specially since you be owing me a big eagle." Gina's jaw dropped in disbelief.

"I only borrowed a half-crown from you Grubb. You're asking for twice what I borrowed from you, that's not fair and you know that I can't get it to you."

"You's been late with the payin, real late," said Grubb angrily. "You be thinkin that you can pay back the good eagle whenever you be wantin to with none oh that interest? Ain't gonna be rollin dat way sweet gene." Gina felt like she had just been hit in the stomach by an astartes wearing a powerfist and she felt sick. How was she going to pay back an entire crown? Before the end of the day no less.

"Course," began Grubb like he was offering Gina a favour, the way you would nonchalantly tell a pupil the answer on a test in a roundabout way. "you's could always be one on my sweet gene rides. Always be havin room for a strand like yours, especially for sum oh dem stomps."

"No," said Gina outraged. "I'll get you your money, but I won't do it like that. I've told you before that I wouldn't, and I still won't."

"Okay sweet gene, that be you decision to make, but remember, the crown be in my hand by end oh the cycle or else."

Grubb left with Plev and Thuke to the mutant quarters calling over his shoulder, "remember sweet gene, end oh the cycle." Gina didn't know how she was going to get the money to pay him back that quickly, but she was going to have to do it fast.

"So 817, how's punishment duty been treating you?"

"Efficiently, if a bit lenient commissar," said 0817 to cadet commissar Walker. They were in the mess along with Daniels and she had been asked to watch him since that Osei had been called in to act as a judge on a panel for a guardsman who had broken protocol and his fate was yet to be decided. It was noisy in the mess hall, as well as hot from the heat of the fryers and various cooking stations. The mess hall was a square room filled with cheap plastic tables and attached benches. It was almost always full on account of the shift changes in ship, but the guard regiments had a more routine schedule to keep. There were posters of devotion and encouragement of the wall, faded with age as well a picture of the current ship captain hanging at the front of the room. He was a portly man with pale skin and by portly it looked like he couldn't leave his command chair if he tried. The uniform that he wore appeared to be more of a all weather tarp that you would use to cover a thud gun then to fit a person with. He had a series of chins, somewhere around eight and no neck. It was a prime example of naval laziness and slack lifestyle.

"How's your face feeling by the way? Is it sore, do you get asked about it or anything?"

"No commissar, it is healing well and I thank you for your concern."

"Well, it is a commissar's duty to look out for the welfare of guardsmen and their injuries," said Walker before making a face and stomaching another spoonful of the grey gruel in front of her. "ugh, that's awful stuff."

"It's full of vitamins and nutrients commissar, quite advantageous in light of our current predicament aboard this ship. It is full of vitamin D to make up for the lack of sunlight, much how on Krieg we have supplements to give to make up for the lack of light," said 0817 mechanically shovelling the gruel into his mouth, holding his mask to the side.

"Yeah Amy, it's healthy and good for you. Here comes the Valkyrie," said Daniels putting his own spoon filled with the gruel in front of Walker's face. She glared at Daniels with two ice blue daggers, before opening her mouth and taking the gruel with another grimace of disgust.

"Daniels, it is improper to call a commissar by their given name and punishable by-"

"It's fine 817, I'll deal with it later and be sure to 'punish' Daniels accordingly."

"Oh, forgive this trooper commissar, it did not mean to intrude on your authority," said 0817 apologetically.

"It's fine," said Walker with a wave of her hand. They ate in silence for a while and 0817 was almost done his gruel and Walker was still playing with hers when Daniels asked his a question.

"So how sick did you get when Braxon stabbed you with his Fang?"

"Pardon?"

"How sick did you get? Were you in the infirmary for a long time, do you have trouble walking, what?"

"This trooper does not understand the question, It did not get sick after its altercation with guardsman Braxon."

"But you did get stabbed by his fang right?"

"Yes, this trooper was injured by guardsman Braxon's blade."

"You do know that we coat our blades in poison most of the time right?" 0817 looked up from his gruel.

"What?"

"Yeah, we coat them in neuro toxins, venom, poison, flesh eating bacteria, whatever is on hand really. Most of the time it's lethal immediately and other times it sits in the hosts system for months without any adverse side effects until it gets its trigger."

"Wh-what trigger?"

"Well," said Daniels leaning forward conspiratorially. "It can be when their heart rate picks up, when they go to sleep, when they drink a certain kind of liquor, or" said Daniels pausing for effect. "When they eat a certain kind of food. Death is usually instantaneous," he said leaning back in his chair and inspecting his fingernails.

0817 looked down at his gruel as if it had suddenly grown teeth and was moving.

"Daniels, would, would there be any kind of sign or symptom that would warn me of the poison becoming active in my system?"

"Not really, most people just die right away. Though they do sometimes complain of a funny aftertaste right before they go."

"This trooper needs to get to the infirmary immediately," said 0817 rushing to his feet panicked.

"Calm down kid, I'm just messing with you, you're not going to die."

"But you said that the aftertaste meant that this trooper was going to die."

"I was messing with you," said Daniels smiling. "The gruel always has an aftertaste and I thought it would be funny."

"It wasn't," said 0817 sitting down embarrassed, having made heads turn in his direction with his outburst.

"No need to get so angry about it, it was just a joke," said Daniels neutrally.

"This trooper is sorry that it gave the impression of being angry, it was just concerned that it was going to die."

"Kid, if you were going to die you would have died after you got stabbed. You were just lucky that Braxon didn't have poison on his fang or you wouldn't be sitting here." Daniels scraped the last of his gruel out of his bowl and finished it. "Plus now you've got a couple of scars to impress the ladies with."

"This trooper was stabbed in the face."

"Builds character, besides I will let you know that it's a fact women like scars. Drives them just wild."

"Really?" said 0817 perking up quickly.

"Oh yeah, see this?" asked Daniels pulling back his olive drab muscle shirt. "This nasty looking fella was given to me by a Catachan Devil, real mean bastard too." It was a large scar in a circle with jagged scar tissue, evenly spaced that looked like they had been made by teeth. It dominated the Catachan's shoulder and looked very painful. There were also some bite marks that looked superficial and relatively new. They didn't even look like they had even broken the skin come to think of it.

"What about those ones? They appear to have been inflicted recently."

"Oh, these?" said Daniels sounding surprised, Walker stopped her spoon halfway to her mouth and seemed to be listening with great care, watching them out of the corner of her eye. "Well," said Daniels grinning like a juvie who had just stolen an iho stick from its parents. "I got this from the most dangerous creature of all, not even from Catachan either. Have you ever heard of, the Yellow headed pouncer?"

"No, is it dangerous?"

"More than you could ever imagine," said Daniels grinning from ear to ear. "Would you like to hear about it?"

"This trooper is interested in learning about a new species," said 0817 curious, because he had never heard of anything called a yellow headed pouncer before.

"Yes, please tell us all about this, pouncer," said Walker tapping her spoon on her bowl.

"Well," said Daniels using his hands for emphasis. "They're not that big, only between five and six feet tall and they're not that heavy, can't be more than fifty or sixty kilos."

"Oh, so weight matters does it?" said Walker nonchalantly, now twirling her spoon in her hand.

"A better description is always preferable when learning about a new species ma'am," said 0817 wanting to hear more about the pouncer.

"Yeah Amy, every little detail is important," said Daniels, the smile still on his face.

"Then by all means, please continue," said Walker now stirring her gruel.

"Well kid, when they pounce you, they get you while you're sitting down or while your sleeping and they get you right around the waist and pin you down, then they start biting and scratching you and make all kinds of noises."

"Isn't it dangerous to keep one on the ship with you if they attack you like that, especially if they're so vicious?" asked 0817 concerned. Keeping live animals on a ship in the warp could make them act unpredictably and dangerously, especially an animal that was prone to violence like this yellow headed pouncer. Strange that he had never heard of it before, 0817 was sure that he would have heard of it somewhere before.

"Ah they're harmless," said Daniels dismissively, "and the regiment needs a pet anyways. More of a mascot really and I'm the only one it really goes after anyways, guess it just likes how I taste. They're real friendly too, gets along great with other people."

"A pet?" said Walker, her face red and tone sharp. "The regiments mascot huh?" Her lips were in a thin line and she was glaring daggers at Daniels.

"Oh come on Amy, it's just a bit of fun, not like I meant anything by it and you know how dangerous those yellow headed pouncers can be."

"Yeah real dangerous, good thing that you don't have to worry about one of them coming to see you for a long time now isn't it?" For the first time, the smile left Daniels face and adopted the look of someone who had just dropped their slice of cake. "Don't forget to finish your meal," said Walker dumping the rest of her gruel into Daniel's bowl before rising to her feet and leaving.

Daniels looked down at his bowl and gritted his teeth, slumping his broad shoulders in defeat. He had messed up and now Amy was mad at him, what a dumb thing to do.

"Where are the yellow headed pouncers from? This trooper would like to see if it could study one or perhaps get it for it's regiment as well; if they are harmless and if it's friendly it is sure that its colonel would like to get one as well. Perhaps as a personal pet."

Daniels looked at 0817 as if he wished that he would just burst into flames, before dumping the gruel from his bowl onto 0817's lap and leaving. 0817 stared down at his lap, then at the retreating forms of both cadet commissar Walker and guardsman Daniels. Why didn't either of them like the yellow headed pouncer?

After 0817 had cleaned off his greatcoat and fatigues, he began heading back to his quarters. He was supposed to be escorted by cadet commissar Walker, but she had left and 0817 didn't want to go looking for her in, because that would mean him having to go to other parts of the ship, possibly far away from his quarters and if he was found to be wandering he would be breaking the limitations of his punishment and then liable for greater punishment besides. So, a quick trip back to his room where he was supposed to be was a much option than looking around for his escort.

0817 walked quickly down the corridor leading to his quarters, a little apprehensive about wandering around without his escort and technically breaking the rules. He didn't know why cadet commissar Walker had left, but it must have been to deal with something important, possibly the yellow headed pouncer.

It was odd that cadet commisssar Walker allowed one of her guardsmen to call her by her first name, but perhaps the standards were different for Catachan regiments than for Krieg regiments. After all, she had seemed more and more surprised the more that he told her of how a Krieg regiment worked. He had even heard commissar Osei make passing remarks about how unique the situation was when a commissar was a part of a Catachan regiment.

"Hey aren't you the one that busted up Wilkins and the others?" 0817 turned and saw a sour faced arms man with a stun baton on his hip.

"Yes sir, this is the trooper responsible and it is returning to its assigned domicile as per orders."

"Where's you're escort then trooper?"

"This troopers escort has left on urgent business sir, and it is travelling alone."

"Well I'm going to have to take you back to your quarters now, hands behind your back, come on let's go." 0817 put his hands behind his back and soon had short chained plas steel cuffs on his wrists that were too tight and was walking in front of the naval arms man who pushed him along and had his stun baton in his free hand. 0817 didn't really pay attention to where he was going, but soon realized that he was in a part of the ship that he didn't recognize and it seemed to be in a state of disrepair.

"Sir, where are we exactly? This isn't anywhere near this troopers quarters."

"Shut up and keep walking," said the arms man sharply, pushing 0817 roughly so he stumbled.

"Yes sir," said 0817 respectfully.

"Cut the attitude."

"Yes sir."

They kept walking until they reached an open room, with only a few petroleum powered lamps and when they entered, the arms man shut the door behind them. It squeaked as it closed and when it shut, the loud clang seemed to echo around the room. The room was rusted and the pipes overhead leaked and the floor was stained. 0817 was starting to get worried now, but he was with an arms man, the law aboard the "Emperor's Emissary," so he should be safe enough.

With a groan of metal, a door on the far side of the room opened inwards and over a dozen naval arms men, some of which were women came through. They carried stun batons, and were wearing the usual armour of security on the more dangerous levels of the ship. They formed a loose semi-circle around 0817 and now he began to feel that something was definitely wrong and that he was in more danger being around the arms men than he was if he had been in a roomful of mutants.

"Hey there big guy, remember me? I remember you, in fact I have three reasons to remember you." It was Wilkins who spoke, holding up his hand which had three shiny new augmetic replacements on it. "You like it? Well, it was the best that I could afford and this is the third set I've gotten. Turns out that my body just doesn't like augmentics, in fact the medicae say that it actively rejects them. Do you know what it's like to lose some of you fingers? Do you know how much it hurts to have half of your frakking hand blown off? The medicae couldn't even reattach my fingers because they were to badly mangled. They weren't even damaged, they were little chunks of meat and bones. You wrecked my fathers navy ring too, did you know that? My father gave me that the day I joined as an arms men, but that's not even the worst of it. I've had infections, swelling, pain, itching, and all those other frakking things in my hand, not to mention that when my fingers don't respond to me and it feels like I don't have any fingers at all. Now, I'm not a man prone to violence, but I have to say that this. Well, this makes me just go absolutely frakking, CRAZY!" finished Wilkins savagely, throwing his augmetic hand into 0817's stomach.

0817 went with the blow, taking it before lashing out with a kick that threw Wilkins back several feet. 0817 tried to get some distance between himself and the naval arms men, but his body was hit with such a sudden electric jolt that it paralysed him and caused his legs to give out as he fell to the floor twitching. 0817's limbs were spasming erratically and they wouldn't respond to his commands. The stun batons carried by the naval arms men were meant to pacify anyone in a riot with only a single swing and had a variety of power settings, ranging from a light jolt to feeling like you fell onto a mag line. The arms man behind him had hit him with his stun baton across the back and even through all 0817's armour, it still felt like it had hit bare skin.

The rest of the arms men were on him in a minute, kicking, punching, hitting with their stun batons. 0817 could hardly feel the blows through the stun baton barrage, couldn't do anything to protect himself. He tried to bring his legs up to protect himself, and tried to think through the pain, but he couldn't move and any part that tried received a blow from a stun baton. Still, 0817 fought on in any way he could, lashing out with his feet, trying to gore one of their legs with the spike atop his helmet, tried vainly to trip one of them with his body; rolling around on the floor, but ending up just jerking around instead. 0817 had never felt so useless, so fragile as he did now, and it was terrifying in the extreme, going beyond his Korps trained ability to handle it. 0817 could handle dying with a weapon like this, but not trussed up and helpless. He wasn't supposed to die yet throne damn it!

Amazingly, with a Herculaneum effort of will, 0817 began to push himself up in spite of the blows. His vast frame and bulk normally possessed an immense amount of strength, but it was increased to an unnatural degree by his anger and fear, making him push himself to his limits and beyond. He made it so that he was in a half sitting position before a heavy navy issue boot stomped down on the front of his mask and sent him crashing back down to the floor. 0817 dimly saw Wilkins above him, his face marred by savage animal hatred. Wilkins mouth moved, but no words came out. It was then that 0817 realized that the only sound he could hear was a shrill ringing sound and could barely feel the blows to his body anymore. Wilkins drew back his hand with the augmetic fingers and hurled it into 0817's face again and again. The mask took the worst of it, but the fist came again and again, each time 0817's vision getting a little darker. With a final moment of almost surreal clarity, 0817 saw everything in vivid detail. The dim shadows cast by the petrol lamps, the seamless grey-white uniforms of the arms men, the scuffs in their boots, and most prominently of all, the glint off of the mechanical fingers on Wilkins hand. Everything was moving at a fraction of normal speed, as if playing slow motion footage of a scrumball game. Then as if the phenomenon was only a passing force, like the wind or the tides, everything went back to regular time and the fist accelerated down to 0817's face, his vision flashing white before going to black.

0817's body went slack and stopped resisting against the blows raining down against him, no longer even reacting, only moving because of the blows. Eventually the blows stopped coming and the arms men pulled back panting and resting their muscles, sweat beading their features from the intense exertion. They deactivated their shock batons and fixed their uniforms, wiping at the sweat on their faces and their necks. They had sent a message and gotten vengeance, but it wouldn't be enough. The Korpsman had seen their faces, new who they were and if by any chance he was alive, he would talk and talking would lead to trouble. A body would make trouble too, which meant that they had to get rid of the body. They had done it before, taken them down to the ships smelting plant where it turned raw ore or salvage into useable parts for the "Emperor's Emissary, especially for when they were on long voyages or had the potential of coming under fire and dry dock was a long ways off. It melted bodies as well as any metal, better in fact. The Korpsman would be no different.

It was early in the morning and unarmed training was first thing, followed by physical exercise, then studies with sister Freya and then an assortment of tutors and professors meant to teach him everything from ancient Terran history to math, but Erich just didn't feel like getting up today. Father would be angry of course, but the only time he was allowed to sleep in later was when he was pronounced too sick to leave his bed by the family medicae staff, but that rarely happened. The Von Shreiders could afford the best and that was exactly what they got. A dozen doctors were on rotating shifts so that there was always a fully trained medical staff ready for the needs of the Baron and his family, each of them in the top ten percent of their graduating staff and impossible to fool. Erich thought briefly about getting up again, but the softness and warmth of his bed was just so welcoming and beckoned for him to stay. Erich decided to let himself to sleep just a little bit longer.

"Master Erich, it's time to get up now." It was a lyrical and soft voice, faint through the haze off fatigue and sleep. Erich thought that it was only his imagination, a pleasant voice from inside his mind trying to get him to his feet and he resolutely ignored it.

"Come on sleepy head, it's time to get up now," this time the soft voice was accompanied by a gentle shaking and Erich opened his eyes. He saw the pretty, kind face of his caretaker Elisha smiling down at him, her long silver hair tied back behind her head. Caring hazel eyes met his own sleep dulled grey ones.

"I'm tired and sore," complained Erich wanting to sleep, but at the same time wanting to spend time with Elisha. She was so nice to him and she was always so proud of him when he did well. It made him try especially harder, just to get the praise from her that he had begun to crave.

"Oh, I know you're tired Erich, but you've got to get up now, you've got work to do yet," said Elisha sympathetically, still talking in her soothing voice.

"Just a few more minutes," said Erich turning over in his bed.

"You don't have a few minutes silly," said Elisha shaking him playfully. "We've got to get going, going, going on a journey, far through the hills and o-ver the plains. The sun is high a-bove you, your steed is strong be-neath you. So with out heads held high, we'll journey on. For we are riding through the plains, endless as the stars so high a-bove you, that shine down their starry light on-to you, as pure, and bright, as the Emperor's love. It's as endless as time, you know that it's true. It slips through our grasp, as we watch it all fade away. The fields stand tall, see them shimmer and wave. We dance through the fields, of gold and jade. More precious than life, more joyous than love, worth more than a-ny stone. For we are going, going, going on a journey," sang Elisha trying to get Erich out of bed. The first and last verses didn't sound like they were part of the song, more like they were just an excuse to shake Erich vigorously.

"If you keep singing I'll get out of bed," said Erich, wanting to hear Elisha's musical voice again. She hardly ever sang, but when she did, she was absolutely wonderful.

"How about this, If you get out of bed I'll keep singing and," said Elisha holding up her finger for emphasis, "give you three ice berry candies."

"Can't you just keep singing?"

"Oh come on now Erich, you know that you have to get up now or your father will be unhappy," warned Elisha. Erich gave a noncommittal grunt.

"Come on Erich, you've got to get up. Get up Erich. Get up."

0817's eyes snapped open and he the first thing he saw was dark metal, and then he heard the deep rumble of heavy machinery and then he felt the dry heat around him. He tried to move, put felt pain wrack every part of his body, so much that it hurt to even breathe. 0817 felt wrong, his body felt wrong. He had broken bones before, many in fact while in training and at home. He knew how it felt and how it affected his body, and it didn't scare him. What scared him was that the feeling of broken bones was everywhere. His breath came in wheezing gasps and he had alternating spells of numbness and searing pain. 0817 turned his head, ignoring the protest of pain and looked around him. He was in some sort of channel with scratched and worn steel walls on either side, and he was in a low spot. There was scrap metal lying around, and even some unrefined ore that shifted or rolled occasionally. 0817 realized that he was sweating and the heat was stifling.

As he looked farther down the line, he saw a glow in the distance. It was golden and red, like the forges and smelting plants on Krieg. 0817 came to the understanding that he was on a conveyor belt system that was feeding raw materials into a smeltery. It took him a while to come to a conclusion in his pain fuddled mind but eventually it made itself quite clear. He was going to be fed into a vat of boiling metal unless he could move.

0817 began pushing himself to his feet and thankfully his hands were not bound anymore. Slowly, like a rising titan, 0817 brought himself to his feet on shaky legs and realized that his left ankle was broken. It was agony to even move and 0817 thought that he might just throw up inside of his mask, but he was from Krieg and he wouldn't do something as humiliating as that.

0817 climbed a small pile of debris and got within reach of the upper channel wall. He grasped it and began to pull himself upwards. His chest protested sharply and it almost felt as if his chest gave ever so slightly. Cracked and broken ribs, not what he needed right now. He almost let go from the pain, almost gave in. It would be so much easier to just give in and let his last few moments be as free of pain of possible. But he couldn't do that, he wasn't allowed to. He had made an oath to return alive no matter what he might face, or what challenges he would have to overcome. A Krieger never went back on an oath, never.

With a grunt that soon turned into a yell of pain, 0817 pulled himself up onto the ledge, only to be kicked back down into the trench. 0817 blacked out for a moment, and when he came to he saw Wilkins walking along the ledge above him, with a smile on his face.

"So how do you like the melter express?" asked Wilkins. 0817 only groaned in response.

"Yeah I know that it's filled with garbage and refuse, but it's going to get burned up anyways." 0817 coughed in response.

"What's that? Oh yeah, I completely forgot about that part. You're down there too, which means that you're going to burn too." Wilkins looked contemplative for a moment before shrugging, his pace going at that with the trams speed. "Oh well, I guess that we're going to have to fix that for next time won't we? What am I saying? We," Wilkins chuckled to himself. "You aren't going to make it out of here and you want to know why? It's because I don't like you, in fact I hate you. You took my fingers, but I'm a grownup and I can put those kind of things behind me, like how I'm going to put all this behind me after I see you burn." 0817 wheezed and shifted so that he was sitting up, causing some of the debris and ore to tumble down the small mound.

"The others wanted to kill you and just dump your body to burn, but not me, nope. Of course I want you dead and I'm going to see you die, but I'm going to see you suffer before I watch you burn alive. Have anything to say for your last words? Only a couple of minutes now before we reach the end of the line." 0817 let out a phlegm filled cough.

"What was that?" asked Wilkins mockingly. In a quick, fluid motion, 0817 brought his arm across his body and threw a hunk of ore like a speeding bullet. It his Wilkins in the side of the head and he fell into the trench like a block of rockcrete.

In great pain, but knowing that time was of the essence, 0817 brought himself staggering to his feet and stumbled towards Wilkins. Wilkins looked disorientated and was pulling his shotgun free even as 0817 reached him. 0817 hit Wilkins in the face again, an almost perfect repeat of the first time they had met, but his arm was weak now, his punch sluggish. Wilkins staggered back and tried to bring the shotgun to bear on the young Korpsman. 0817 grabbed the shotgun and levered it away, but he was so weak. They struggled for the gun.

Wilkins had blood running down the side of his head, staining his hair a dark crusty brown, a snarl of rage on his features, with oaths and curses pouring out of his mouth. 0817 was silent, focused in grim concentration on survival, but his body felt like it was made of glass and it hurt far too much to move, much less struggle for a gun.

Wilkins lashed out with a kick to 0817's leg and the pain made him feel like he could pass out. If he did that now though, he would die. He pushed the gun harder, forcing Wilkins back towards the wall and a pile of jagged metal debris. If he could only force Wilkins upon the pile he could win. Step by step 0817 forced him back, heedless of his broken ankle and damaged body. Wilkins struck him again and this time, 0817 let go of the gun and stumbled back. The blow had hit him in the chest and this time the pain was too much. 0817 looked bleakly at Wilkins who had a savage look of triumph on his face. Wilkins brought the gun up to his shoulder and aimed squarely at 0817's chest. 0817 felt tired, so very tired now. He had lost and there was nothing he could do about it. His body was broken, his will was gone and he had nothing left to give.

"No." Erich heard the voice, but it wasn't Wilkins who said it and it wasn't him. It was coming from inside of him. The voice was deep and powerful, possessing a seemingly endless amount of willpower. It filled him with power. He wouldn't die like this, it wasn't right. With a sudden surge of energy and an unexpected amount of hate, 0817 rushed Wilkins. He dodged to the left as Wilkins fired, taking the weight on his broken ankle like it wasn't even hurt. The adrenaline was extreme and the rage focused his mind like a high powered las beam. Whereas before 0817 had always been thinking of strategies and different ways to fight, he had only one thought on his mind now. Kill Wilkins.

0817 ploughed into Wilkins and picked his up like he weighed nothing at all. 0817 picked up Wilkins by the scruff of his tunic jacket, lifting him high up into the air.

"DIE DAMN YOU, DIE!" This time it was 0817 who spoke, the voice inside of him giving him strength through rage and it was now coming out. 0817 rammed Wilkins body down onto protruding pieces of metal piping and poles. He rammed Wilkins onto the pile so hard, that the metal entered through his back and exited through his chest in a gaping wound. Blood spurted out from the gaping wound and doused the front of 0817's uniform. Wilkins choked up blood, even as it began to spread from his torso and run across the scrap metal.. 0817 was surprised when he found himself thinking that what he had done wasn't enough and he grabbed a fighting knife from Wilkins belt and rammed it into his skull all the way to the hilt and felt a sadistic satisfaction as he saw the light drain from his eyes. Wilkins slumped over dead, the knife stuck fast in his skull and his body stuck fast to the metal. 0817 took a half step back panting hard. Why had he done that? Killing his was necessary, but to do it in a way that let him see him die was unnecessary and bordering on psychopathic tendencies. Had he really hated him that much?

The heat was intense now and the light from the smeltery was intense now, even through his tinted eyepieces. 0817 grabbed the auto pistol from Wilkins belt, foregoing the shotgun in case his weakened body couldn't handle the recoil. 0817 was halfway out of the trench, when the pain returned full force. He almost let go, and his stomach almost leg go of his lunch. 0817 hung motionless for a moment, before with an effort ten times greater than before he pulled himself up on trembling arms, and with a final cry, pulled himself up and to safety.

0817 fell in an exhausted heap on the hot metal flooring, every part of his body in agony. He had to get to safety, he had to get to the commissar. He couldn't trust the arms men, couldn't trust anyone from the navy. He didn't know who all wanted him dead, but anyone from the navy was suspect. He could only trust the commissars and maybe other guardsmen. A Krieger most definitely, but anyone else, not a chance. Dragging up the last bit of strength he had, 0817 brought himself to his feet and began a lurching, lopsided walk to safety.

0817 felt faint, like he could pass out or throw up, probably both. He used breathing techniques and focused his mind on survival. It helped a bit. 0817 didn't know how long he walked before he reached the exit doors of the smeltery, only that when he did there was a naval arms woman waiting outside with a shotgun.

"Wilkins? Aw shi-" the woman never finished her statement or brought her weapon to bear, because 0817 put a bullet right through the centre of her forehead. He stepped over her body and kept walking. 0817 didn't remember much after that, half delirious with pain and fatigue, he stumbled from hallway to hallway, heading to the shared office of his commissar and colonel. He didn't remember getting on the lift to get to the higher levels, didn't remember how he got to the office. The last thing he did remember was getting to the office and opening it without asking to enter. It was breaking protocol, but he could hardly think, much less remember every nicety.

The commissar and colonel were sitting in high backed padded chairs talking, when 0817 stumbled into the room, auto pistol in hand. Commissar Osei was up in a flash, bolt pistol drawn and Stanton wasn't far behind.

"Drop it now trooper," said Osei voice resonating with authority, bolt pistol held rock steady. "This doesn't have to end with you in a body bag, if you have a grievance we can talk about it. If you have are unhappy about your punishment we can discuss it like reasonable men, just put the gun down." The auto pistol fell from nerveless fingers to the padded floor of the office.

"Good, now I want you to-" 0817 didn't remember the rest, because the room began to spin and his nausea rose to a level he couldn't control. The last thing that 0817 remembered was the floor rushing up to meet him and a single thought going through his head. He was safe, he had made it.

Gina counted the money she had, it wasn't enough. She had begged, borrowed, scrounged and worked every second of the day to get the money she needed to pay back Grubb. She had taken jobs that she normally wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole, the really dangerous kind. She had cleared an obstruction for an industrial ventilation fan, nearly losing her arm in the process. She had done a lot of duct work in fact. Duct work was dangerous on a ship and more than one twist had had a fatal accident while cleaning them. One false move, one slip up, and you were dead. There were a lot of places to fall in the ducts and not a lot of ways to get help. Clude had been working with her in fact, they had been cleaning side by side when he had gotten too close to the edge of one of the shafts. Clude had 14 eyes spread around his head and all had been wide with fear as he fell and screamed. Gina hadn't known what to do, she could get help but no one was too interested in helping a twist and if she didn't finish, she wouldn't get paid. She had kept on cleaning.

She only had 48 hundredths of a crown on her, plus enough base metal currency to bring it to a full half-crown. Exactly what she had needed, before Grubb had raised the amount that she owed. She didn't want to be here, Alphabet City. It was the part of the ship that was full of unused storage hangars, deemed too dangerous to hold anything. A chemical or acid of some sort had apparently broken from a container years ago and weakened or eaten through the deck. It had never been replaced or fixed, so it was left unused and abandoned by the ship and crew. The twists however had made good use of it, turning it into a small city of sorts. Arms-men or naval security would come through from time to time on raids or police actions, but for every hovel they cleared out two more would take its place.

Having as much money on her as she did made Gina nervous, in Alphabet City they would kill you for a hit of obscura or even a shot of cheap hard twist-made liquor. She had what equated to a small fortune of her and she tried not to do anything too obvious to let on that she had money. Occasionally she would have to prove she was a twist to other mutants around, most here not knowing that she was a twist and at first glance she wasn't. She just looked like a regular serf, like a regular human.

Sometimes Gina wondered what it would be like to be human, seeing what they could achieve, what they could be. Sometimes she thought about what life could be like if she was human, perhaps she could be a sister of battle like she had heard about in the Imperial Creed Primer. She already had white hair, so she wouldn't even have to dye it. Gina sighed wearily, thinking about what she couldn't have would only depress her more.

Alphabet City was a shantytown, with alternating dim and bright lights stung on strings between hovels at important intersections, or what the twists thought needed lights or could afford them. The hovels were all dirty and rundown, most build from discarded ration boxes or discarded packing materials from the supplies that they shipped. The 'upscale' houses or businesses were either made of scavenged metal or built into the nooks in the ships hull. There was no formal governing system here, just a series of gangs whose control shifted from day to day with often violent and savage battles. There were no guns used, because then naval security would clean house with alphabet city, coming in and shooting indiscriminately. That or void all the oxygen leading to Alphabet City, they weren't afraid to do that.

The flooring was rusted and there was garbage everywhere in the streets, which already hardly had enough room for four people to walk abreast on. Gina was careful where she stepped and even took several detours to avoid paths where the excrement or garbage was heaviest. Gina didn't like coming here for that reason either, the garbage and filth was unnecessary and it just reinforced peoples perception of twists. Gina kept herself clean as a point of pride, she took care of herself, because frankly she still gave a damn about how she looked despite what anyone thought of what she was.

Gina came to the entrance of the bar that Grubb had told her to find and could feel the music pounding inside like a physical force inside, vibrating the very floor. It was in the good section of Alphabet city, at the wall where the chemical hadn't reached and where the floor was still strong. It was also a large building, at least two storeys, but only one floor. There was a gargantuan cyclops standing guard outside the size of an ogryn and with cloven feet. The iris of his eye was purple, but the sclera of his eye was an unhealthy yellow. He was covered in fur in a leopard pattern and he eyed her indifferently, blocking the doorway with his vast bulk.

"S'what being you're business 'ere twist?" he asked with a deep voice that rumbled from deep inside his chest, arms that rippled with muscle crossed in front of him.

"Boss man Grubb say he be needin me to be to pay back sum oh the good eagle," said Gina trying not to gag at the mans smell. He smelled even worse than the city around them, like he had never even been acquainted with the idea of water. His breath smelled even worse, like cheap liquor, obscura, and rot.

"Bes be headin in thun sweet gene, Grubb ain't likin to be waitin," rumbled the giant stepping aside from the door and allowing Gina to enter. She mumbled her thanks as she entered the bar.

The inside of the bar was dark, only the outline of people could be seen inside, except for the dancer on stage. It was a woman with clothes that might as well not have been there and seemed to be diminishing every second that passed. She was in the centre of the room and was gyrating crazily to the beat of the music, hard and fast. Slam, Crunk, or Pound was the various names that Gina had heard for the music and she didn't like it. The beat was primal and made her feel like she needed to get up and move which was nice, but it was too loud and the lyrics were too harsh to understand. It probably didn't help that the speakers were most likely scrounged together or so old that the tape holding them together was falling apart. Cutting in and out, with static hampering the already illegible lyrics. The woman on stage was a buxom woman with auburn hair and far too many eyes spread throughout her body, and salivating mouths running up her arms and legs. Gina touched her own mutation self consciously, sometimes she thought that she got off lucky with hers compared to others.

What light that there was, was a wine red and Gina wandered hopelessly lost around the bar, the music drowning out all sound and the inside of the bar covered in mirrors providing multiple images of the same things around the bar and of the opposite wall. Gina eventually simply gave up and sat at a low scrap bench and waited. If Grubb really wanted to meet with her, then he could just find her down here.

Gina didn't have long to wait, before Thuke came to get her.

"Boss man be wantin you on the up and up," said Thuke, his throaty voice coming from a sideways splitting mouth. Before Gina could respond, Thuke had her by the arm and was pulling her up a flight of stairs that seemed to blend into the wall.

"Why you s'being so hard wit me? Be trying to s'get a base ride?" said Gina trying to pull out of Thukes grip.

"Boss man also be saying that if you's start flappin like sum twist to rip of one oh your arms," said Thuke dispassionately. Gina's eyes opened wide in surprise, but she stayed quiet.

Grubb was sitting at a booth overlooking the main floor of the bar/club and was surrounded by girls, thugs, and what looked like other gang leaders with their own entourages. Thuke lead Gina to a seat at the booth and pushed her into it. Grubb didn't acknowledge her for a time, so she sat uncomfortably while a twist with a circular mouth and too many rows of teeth all set in a ring. When Grubb spoke, it was in a normal decibel voice and Gina had to strain to hear him.

"You's got my good eagle?" Gina put all the money she had onto the table in a small pile of low denomination crown pieces and base metal currency. Grubb sifted through it disinterested with the tip of his clawed finger.

"Dis ain't enough sweet gene," said Grubb looking up and fixing Gina with a piercing gaze, his hissing voice barely perceptible over the booming of the music below. "Y'know what I's gottsa do now eh sweet gene?"

"It's what I borrowed Grubb, I couldn't get the rest in that amount of time. I can get the rest, but I need more time."

"S'ain't no more ticks to be had," said Grubb making a gesture with his clawed hand. Gina barely had time to cry out as both Thuke and Plev grabbed her and pushed her face down onto the table. Grubb drew out a short bladed knife, worn from use and age. The rest of those assembled at the table watched on disinterested, there would be no help from any of them.

"Sorry sweet gene, buy you been keepin my good eagle too many ticks. S'what I'm gonna do, don't be takin it personal," said Grubb waggling his knife back and forth before bringing it to Gina's face.

"Wait, stop!" cried out Gina desperately feeling the cold edge of the metal against her face. "You said that I could be one of your girls and work it off right?"

"Mebbe I be sayin that," said Grubb tapping the knife on Gina's face. "S'why should I be letting you be doin that now? That deal s'was a one tick offer."

"I've already paid back what I owed to begin with right? So, technically I've paid what I owe and now I just have to get rid of the interest right? So you've got your money back and get to save face as well as have a new girl to earn you more money right? So the way I see it, you win both ways and if you don't mark up my face, you'll make more money. Pretty face and all," finished Gina with an unconvincing nervous laugh.

"Y'know sweet gene, you's may be flappin sum sense," said Grubb thoughtfully. "You's sayin that you be good? You's be clean?"

"Of course I'm good, and I'm as clean as the captains quarters, no problem."

"You pleasing?"

"Of course, I leave them panting when I'm done I'll be the best girl you've ever had," said Gina talking quickly and anything that sounded good. The knife was never far from her eye, glinting in the hellish red light of the club and worried that Grubb would wave the knife too far and take out one of her eyes.

"Supposin I be makin good eagle off you," said Grubb looking her up and down. "I's be given you a workin schedule of ticks s'you be gettin your scraps tight. S'don run sweet gene or I's gonna do more than mark."

"Of course, in a week I'll be ready don't worry," said Gina plastering on a winning smile, that had trouble staying in place. She didn't have any trouble leaving the bar though and that she did in a hurry. She had a week before she had to work for Grubb. She felt shame and loathing well up in her as she hurried through the shantytown. Of course she was clean, she hadn't ever done anything like that with another person. Pregnancy was basically a death sentence for a twist, especially with the conditions on the ship. She especially didn't relish going to one of Grubb's parties.

There was no musical voice from the past to wake him up this time around, 0817 woke to too bright of lighting and the steady beep of a heart monitor. Squinting, 0817 realized that he was in the infirmary and heavily bandaged and in multiple casts. What exposed skin there was was a mottled collection of black, blue, and yellow. 0817 must have made more noise than he intended, because one of the medicae came over to check on his and shine yet another light in his eye that actually hurt and forced him to shut them. The medicae scribbled a few quick notes before hurrying off to what looked like a more senior medicae. 0817 shifted his eyes to look at his wrist almost fearfully. His bracelet was still on, they hadn't taken it off. Why they hadn't when they had treated him was beyond his understanding, but as long as it was there he would be fine. The second thing that the grey orbs looked for was 0817's equipment, it wasn't anywhere in sight and it caused him no end to anxiety. He wasn't supposed to be separated from it, much less not know where it was. What happened if someone stole it?

0817 was still pondering this, when the colonel followed closely by commissar Osei entered. Cadet commissar Walker was at the tail end of the procession, head downcast. The colonel pulled up a chair next to the bed and seemed almost fatherly in how he was acting.

"How are you holding up son?"

"This trooper is still alive," said 0817 seriously. He had come very close to death.

"Can you tell me who did this to you? We'll bring them in I assure you, I don't let my guardsmen get hurt like this. Do you know any of their names? His name?"

"There is no point in saying names sir."

"Yes there is, even if they threatened you they can't hurt you anymore. You're safe now, we can keep you safe."

"Sir that is not what this trooper tried to convey in my meaning. The names do not matter, because the only one which this trooper knew is dead along with one of his accomplices." Stantons eyes opened in surprise, his greying eyebrows doing their best to accommodate them.

"You killed two people?"

"It was in self defence sir, the arms men accosted this trooper and attacked it. They then attempted to dispose of its body in the ships refining and manufacturing bay. This trooper managed to escape and kill the two arms men meant to ensure that it died."

"Arms men? You killed two arms men?"

"Yes sir, the others were not present thankfully or else this troopers survivability would have been a very low percentage sir."

"Bloody navy, always frakking over the guard," said Stanton angrily, half to himself. He stood up sharply. "Trying to kill my guardsmen again and then court martial them when they defend themselves. What a mess, what an absolute Emperor dammed mess," said Stanton flexing his augmentic hand restlessly. "How could this have happened?"

"Yes, how?" said Osei turning to Walker who looked like she would rather be anywhere else than there right now. "Didn't I tell you to watch him and take him to and from his room? That he was under strict disciplinary punishment and wasn't to be left alone? Mind explaining what happened? Commissar?"

"Well, um, you see," said Walker practically shaking in her boots. Dereliction of duty by a commissar was punishable by death and in fact demanded in most cases. If Osei so chose he could dispense the Emperor's justice right here and now, though that was usually reserved for extreme cases and a review board would usually look over a commissar's case. "I took him to lunch like I was supposed to and I watched him the entire time," said Walker. "But, then I, well. I kind of-"

"Lost him?" finished Osei angrily, forcing Walker to look him in the eye. "Let him get assaulted and nearly beat to death in an incident that cost two crew members their lives and could have been easily avoided if you had simply done your job like you were supposed to do? Two people are dead and a third, one of my guardsmen is due for a court martial. So do you think that you could give me a satisfactory answer before I take you before a commissariat review board? I can guarantee that they'll get an answer from you."

"I-I," stuttered Walker.

"It was this troopers fault," said 0817 causing Osei and Stanton to look at him surprised. "Cadet commissar Walker had food spilled on her uniform by another guardsman and told this trooper to wait while she made herself presentable befitting a member of the commissariat. This trooper left as soon as she was gone commissar, this trooper is completely to blame," finished 0817. The colonel and commissar were both looking at him with varying degrees of disapproval, but Walker looked like she could cry with relief and the gratitude was plain on her face. 0817 didn't know why he had lied for Walker, but he had and now the heat was on him.

"You disobeyed an order trooper?" asked Osei sounding surprised.

"This trooper was...wishing to return to its quarters faster so that it would not be breaking the conditions of its punishment."

"You broke one anyways," said Osei blandly.

"Yes, but... this trooper had forgotten that it needed to be escorted sir." 0817 felt slightly uneasy as Osei peered into his eyes as if searching for something.

"You're saying that you forgot one of the conditions of your punishment?"

"Yes sir," said 0817 quickly.

"Cadet commissar Walker, is this Korpsman telling the truth?"

"Um, I don't pretend to know what he's thinking sir, but he did leave me behind."

"I see," said Osei turning back to 0817. "So will you give me your word of honour that you are telling the truth Korpsman? Will you give an oath that you have told the truth?"

"Sir if you need this trooper to give its word than it will, but it is unnecessary for it is telling the truth."

"No you won't," said Osei simply.

"Sir this trooper is-"

"Lying. You're lying," said Osei with such certainty and conviction that 0817 knew that he was caught and he started to feel a nervous sweat bead his features. He hadn't escaped death to die by commissariat hand, stumbling half dead into his commanding officers office and collapsing on the floor. It made him wonder how he could have ever asked to be shot for breaking protocol. His shame for what he had done must have overridden his judgement.

"This trooper can assure you that it is telling the truth," said 0817 feeling like his throat was dying out. "It has never mislead you." 0817's face flushed as his voice cracked. It was annoying and happened from time to time, and it was as bad for the Korps image as it was humiliating. He cleared his throat trying to ensure that it didn't happen again.

"I can see it in you're eyes, you don't know how to lie and it's plain on your face so why are you trying? Do you think that I can't tell when some kid is lying to me when I've had to deal with grown men? Give me a break and do us both a favour by telling the truth." Osei turned to Walker who refused to meet his gaze.

"Commissar, this is degrading to you as well. You're supposed to be an example to people, an inspiration and yet you're willing to let a sixteen year old take the blame for something you did? How low can you get? I can't prove that what you're both saying isn't true beyond a doubt, but it's so obvious that you're both lying. So I will ask you now, is this Korpsman lying to me?" Walker sighed in defeat, her shoulders slumping.

"Yes, he's-"

"Commissar this is supposed to go before a formal board of enquiry correct? If so, then myself and cadet commissar Walker do not have to talk to you without counsel," said 0817 suddenly, his voice now holding an aristocratic edge and spoken with the well mannered flowing speech of the Krieg aristocracy, causing Stanton to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

"No, this is a guard matter and as an Imperial commissar, I have the right to mete out justice as I see fit or in collusion with my peers. Accused guardsmen do not get lawyers so the answer is no."

"This trooper disagrees. If it was a simply matter of this troopers wrongdoing than you could shoot this trooper where it lies, but it involves a member of the commissariat which is a much more serious matter if this trooper am not mistaken and it is not, then we: cadet commissar Walker and this trooper are entitled to a defence and do not have to answer to any of your questions or badgering."

"Badgering?" said Osei his voice taking on an edge. "You killed two arms men, commissar Walker is guilty of dereliction of duty and you are committing perjury."

"This trooper is not under oath so it is not perjury and with all due respect commissar, prove it."

"You admitted to it," said Osei sternly.

"This trooper was half delirious with pain and exhaustion. Who's to say what it really saw or did? The victim is always the worst witness commissar, as you know."

"The boy knows his rules and law," said Stanton amused. Walker was just staring at him like she didn't know where this Korpsman had come with easy confidence and noble arrogance.

"Then I'll get you a counsel and we can settle this in the ships court."

"A counsel from the ship?" said 0817 as if the very thought offended him. "This trooper will not have some community educated dullard defend it, it will hire its own counsel for itself as well as cadet commissar Walker."

"You have no money and you are wearing my patience thin trooper. You think you know what you're talking about but you have no idea what you're talking about."

"Then that would make two of us would it not commissar?" Stanton laughed at this and took out a cigar as though the whole spectacle was nothing but a show for his amusement. Osei looked like he could spit nail though.

"Then where pray tell trooper would you happen to get the money necessary for this?"

"My family has given me a more than adequate sum to do with as I please and the trifling amount necessary for a defence will be no problem to get. What's the going rate for a lawyer here? 4000 crowns? Easy," said 0817 like he was explaining something painfully simple to a dull student.

"And who exactly is your family then trooper, that has given you this extravagant amount of money that you claim to have? Oh, and as a side note you owe laps for referring to yourself," said Osei becoming increasingly frustrated at the arrogant and snide Korpsman.

"Then I will have to give you those laps when I get better won't I? Commissar."

"You still didn't answer my question trooper and if you don't make it clear that you can afford what you're talking about I will exercise my right here and now." 0817 didn't answer Osei, but turned to Stanton instead.

"Sir does this trooper have permission to use its private name?" Stanton looked mildly surprised at the request but nodded his affirmation. If he had read the Korps handbook like he was supposed to, he would have known that the regimental commander must give permission before a trooper can give their real name. Stanton would have also know that he couldn't smoke in an infirmary, but he did it anyway letting loose a great ring of smoke.

"My name is Erich Rudolph Von Shreider of the Von Shreider family and minor baron of it," said 0817 grandly. "My mother is Helena Von Shreider and if you see fit to press this matter I will bring the full weight of my house to my and cadet commissar's defence. If I need to I can drag the matter out for years."

"Prove it."

"Colonel, could you please roll up the right sleeve of my gown?" Stanton reached out with his augmetic hand and pulled back the sleeve to reveal scar tissue in the form of a roaring dragon wrapped around an aquilla.

"Well, he's not lying," said Stanton. "That's the mark of the Von Shreider family alright, I remember it from the viewing box."

"So do I, among other things," said Osei wondering how Stanton could have remembered anything while so heavily intoxicated.

"Commissar, not to be rude, but I do believe you have to leave now. Cadet commissar Walker and I have to prepare out defence. Only two weeks left in our voyage to do so."

In the following week, 0817 was able to heal startlingly quickly with the aid of his families money to purchase the more potent, but harder to make treatments and drugs. His own formidable constitution aided in his recovery and by weeks end he was running through his own personal combat training, the doctors still excusing his from regular training. He was told that he could do light activity, but anything too strenuous and it could cause some of the mending bones to break. Key word being could, the treatments 0817 had received were the best possible on board the "Emperor's Emissary."

By the seventh day it was like the near death experience had never happened, a testament to the medical skill available to the Imperium. For the correct amount that is. 0817 was on bad terms with commissar Osei now, but he found that it didn't bother him too much. He wasn't going to just let himself be punished for doing what was necessary for him to live, even if he had done the crime they were saying he had. There was only a week left until they entered real space again and he had to prepare for the trial. 0817 put his quill down in annoyance and pushed the notes he had been writing off to the side. This was not how his career in the Korps was supposed to go. He hadn't even gotten to his first deployment and already he had gotten into several fights, put into the infirmary three times and twice with life threatening wounds. His service record was going to be terrible and as a result promotion was going to be hard to come by.

Most Korpsman would not care about promotion and would in fact try to avoid it at all costs. It was a mark of shame, a badge that was present for all to see. It meant that you were not brave enough in the face the enemy to fight till the last. It was one of the reasons that the Krieg officer corps was so diminished. When every officer is eager to atone and die gloriously in battle, the turnover rate was far to rapid and the officers far too inexperienced. 0817 craved it though, he wanted the stripes of a sergeant, the bars or a colonel, the plumed helmet of a general. He knew that he shouldn't want it, should despise it, but he wanted it so badly. He wanted to be able to wield his sword in combat, and Emperor permitting, his fathers sword.

The thing that he wanted most of all though, the thing that burned like a thousand stars inside of him, was revenge. He wanted revenge against the eldar. They had shamed his family, the long and proud Von Shreider family line had been spat upon. The blood of one of the original 22 generals who had made the decision for Krieg to be spared from heresy. Blood that was rumoured to have mingled with that of Jurgen and the blood that now coursed through his veins. It was a matter of honour that the wrong be righted, but more than that it was personal. They had attacked the woman he cared about most and if had even been a moment slower, he would have lost her as well as his father. His father. The lord general of Krieg, patriarch of the Von Shreider family, and a man of unending will. He had been firm but fair in his rule of his lands, a man of great dignity. A good man, and taken away in an instant by vile xenos. The eldar, even the very word was hard to say. As if even thought in his head it held on like tar until ripped out and forced to be acknowledged. He had made another oath on the night of his ascension, one that only he and he alone knew about. He had sworn that fateful night as he was hastily operated on in the brief moment of lucidity he had been able to steal. He had known that his father was dead, felt it, but his decision would have been the same. He swore on his immortal soul that he would deal the eldar such a blow that would never be forgotten and he would do it by his own hand. Later he had added to that oath. He had sworn that he would kill Jain Zar, phoenix lord of the banshees. Even if it caused his death.

Feeling tired and seeing the time, 0817 went to bed. Being an untouchable meant that it was easy for him to fall asleep while on a ship travelling through the warp and he almost never dreamt. When he did, it was from his own influences and events that a troubled or over active mind will contemplate in rest. It was quite beneficial to be immune from the warp and its influences, but it had its drawbacks. Chief among them staying asleep in an event that woke the rest of the crew, and had them fight desperately for their lives.

Gina didn't like the 'dress' as they called it, because it wasn't one. It was a white piece of cloth, probably stolen from a naval officers uniform and it barely went below her hips. Her hair had been done so it 'bounced' or something and makeup put on in globs that she had had to fix so it looked at least somewhat natural. It was her first night of working off her debt to Grubb and she really didn't want to be where she was, in a rundown, rusted out, and obscura smoke filled club in a section of the ship that she hadn't even known had existed before she had been taken to it. It was one of Grubbs famous 'plow' parties and it was in full swing.

Twists, serf whores, even a few who looked like slumming navy were doing whatever they wanted wherever they wanted. Not five feet from Gina a pair were going at it and they weren't the only ones. Nearly everywhere that she looked, people were doing the same on any available surface and doing any kind of chemical that could give you a buzz. There was also a kind of weird incense in the air, like the priests would sometimes wave around, but the incense smelled different. It was a heavy musky smell that had a familiar smell to it, but alien at the same time. It moved around the room seemingly on its own accord, sometimes against what airflow there was from the vents.

Grubb would occasionally check on them or swing them around and draw new designs on his chest with some kind of paint. A lot of people had the designs painted, tattooed, or disturbingly cut into them. In fact some were doing it right now and Gina had to look away. The blood was bad enough, but the symbols hurt to look at themselves. As if they were too bright a light and it stung her eyes to look at.

Gina wasn't the only one of Grubb's girls here, but she was the only one not currently earning her moneys worth. Her 'client' as he was called, was a horribly obese twist that seemed more concerned with stuffing his face then eating and Gina was all to happy to let him continue. Bits of food would fall from his mouth onto her and his lap made for a greasy seat, but it was infinitely better than the alternative. Maybe if she was really lucky, she wouldn't have to do anything tonight.

Gina's client was in the process of seeing how much food he could stuff in his mouth when Grubb went to the front of the room and signalled for their attention. He got it, mostly.

"I's be hopin you be s'havin a good tick, but now it's being the tick for the real special event I been Promisin all you." Gina watched with interest as everyone actually stopped what they were doing and began moving in, crowding towards the front. A different light was turned on and revealed an outline on the floor of a strange design and Grubb along with twists like Plev and Thuke began putting what looked like wax or maybe paint onto different spots seemingly at random.

Gina suddenly shivered involuntarily and rubbed at her arms. Her breath was a misty cloud in front of her that rose towards the roof before being swept up in a roving cloud of incense. When had it gotten so cold in here?

Grubb started chanting strange words and was soon joined by the rest of the group with party goers. It started out low, but steadily built in both volume and intensity until they were gyrating their bodies spasmodically and even the blob beneath Gina began to chant, bits of food flying from its mouth and its blubber jiggling excitedly as a deep baritone voice issued from its fatty depths. It was starting to get very cold now and Gina could see frost starting to develop on the low table in front of her and the walls. Gina suddenly felt very sick and dizzy, and her head felt like it was going to split. She shut her eyes and said a prayer under her breath for fortitude and strength. When she opened them again, she saw Grubb opening his arms wide like a preacher before drawing a knife across his chest and splattering the centre of the design with blood.

The incense began to gather and swirl around Grubb and the chanting was reaching a fever pitch, the swaying bodies looked more like seizure spasms. The incense started changing colour as it surrounded Grubb, then, it pulsed. Frost began to spread rapidly across the floor and roof before melting in an instant, leaving puddles of water on the floor dripping down from the roof. The entire front half of the room was covered by a pinkish purple mist and the party goers looked exhausted like they had just worked a full shift doing hard labour.

The mist began to clear and Gina could make out the outline of Grubb, just a dark silhouette in the mist. Then she saw another silhouette, taller than Grubb and much more feminine. As the mist cleared, Gina saw a woman who looked nearly eight feel tall with a purple hue of skin and long black hair. Gina couldn't stop staring at the woman. She was what every man desired and what every woman wanted to look like. There wasn't a trace of fat on her and everything was perfectly proportioned. Busty without being too large, slim without being skinny, and muscular without being laden with heavy muscle. Her clothing looked like hardened bone over her breast and crotch, but Gina wasn't really sure. Her voice was even pleasing, comforting and friendly like she could tell her anything, but Gina suddenly felt an intense fear like she needed to run as fast as her feet could carry her. Behind the woman was a shimmering purple portal that seemed to hover suspended in midair and would occasionally pulse like a heartbeat.

"I really must thank you for getting me out of that terrible place," cooed the purple woman to Grubb. "I think that you've earned your reward wouldn't you say Grubb? In fact I think that I'll give it to you myself, I just don't think that I can contain myself any longer." She was running a long, delicate finger under Grubbs chin brought him in close. She kissed him and Grubb looked like he was in pure bliss for a moment before he began to frantically struggle, his eyes bulging out and limbs pushing at the woman in front of him. Dark veins showed, even through his reptilian skin and then his body began to shrink in on itself like a dehydrated fruit until only a withered husk was left and he fell to the ground.

A daemon, Grubb had summoned a daemon. Gina felt her fear reach a breaking point, the point where nothing else in present but mind numbing terror. So Gina ran, she ran in the too short of dress, through rusted out hallways, and abandoned corridors. Laughter danced down the corridor even as the screams started to echo. There was more than one voice laughing.

With a harsh buzzing, 0817 woke up and turned off his alarm chronometer. He rose quickly and made his bed then cleaned his room. He donned the over suit of the Death Korps uniform, freshly pressed from the night before. Going for breakfast, 0817 stepped into the hallway, but stopped as his boot squelched. Looking down he saw that he was standing in some kind of yellow substance that resembled vomit. 0817 brought his boot up and the substance stuck to it in sticky strands. Damn navy can't keep anything clean, or working apparently thought 0817 as he noticed several flickering and malfunctioning lights.

Shutting the door behind his to prevent the substance from dirtying his quarters, 0817 headed towards the mess for his morning meal. He walked on the metal flooring where it showed, but more often than not he had to walk on the vomit like substance. Coming around a bend in the corner, 0817 stopped dead and reached for the rifle that he didn't have. Blood streaked the walls in places and tattered clothes and weapons were strewn up and down the length of the hallway. The bulkheads were scored with small arms fire from navy issue auto weapons. There had been a fierce struggle, but where were the bodies?

Walking carefully down the corridor, 0817 began treating it like a battlefield and checked every corner, every shadow, checked behind him, and walked more softly even though the point was moot with his boots squelching every time he took a step. It was with these precautions that he was expecting the arms man when be came hopping into the main corridor and blabbering hysterically.

He was jumping from each part of clear metal flooring like it was a juvie game and blabbering to himself that he had to get away. His uniform was torn and he was bloody, but his weapon looked functional.

"Arms man, what is the situation aboard this ship?" called out 0817. The turned to him like a startled prickle rat and shrieked before trying to run away. He slipped on the metal flooring and fell into the vomit like sludge. He screamed when he hit the sludge, then it moved. It moved like a living entity and wrapped around the man even as he tried to crawl out of it. It poured over him and 0817 heard the crunch of breaking bones and terrible sucking noises. The mass writhed for a moment, before smoothing out like it had before, except that now there were tattered clothes and a battered shotgun left behind. 0817 looked down at the sludge that he was standing in.

Scrambling backwards quickly trying to get out of the sludge, he lost his footing and fell heavily onto his back. 0817 braced himself for the worst. When the sludge just stayed inert, 0817 slowly got to his feet and looked at it. It hadn't reacted to him at all. Feeling the sudden need to test a hypothesis, 0817 took off a flak armoured glove and gingerly pressed his finger into the sludge. It turned black and crusty like a scab where his finger touched and some of the slime actually flowed away from his touch. 0817 felt the corner of his mouth quirk upwards, he had the advantage here. Grabbing weapons and ammo from the hallway, 0817 went looking for something to kill.

"Here they come again!" Axon called as he pointed towards a gibbering horde of mutants, eyes glowing with a hellish internal light. Daniels racked his liberated naval shotgun and blew a mutant away with a resounding boom. There was seemingly no end to these mutants and they just threw themselves at their haphazard defences. It had only started a few hours ago and already they had lost the deck right below theirs. This seemed like daemon work, but how could anything have gotten through the gellar field? It was still running obviously or else they would all be dead by now, consumed by daemons in an instant. This must have just been a small breach. The Catachans were able to hold their own quarters, but they hadn't heard anything from the others regiments and the naval security was stretched to the breaking point.

The mutants scrabbled, crawled, slithered, or skittered towards them each more horrible than the last and each died under a fusillade of bullets from the assembled Catachan. Colonel Harding was at the front as usual and yelling encouragement and curses in equal measure, while laughing like a maniac. He had an old, personal shotgun and he seemed to take some sort of personal glee from every kill of a mutant. Daniels reloaded and fired with trained efficiency, but he was distracted. He hadn't seen Amy since any of this had started and he was worried about her. Someone alone with daemons around didn't last long. A commissar having a relationship with a guardsman was strictly prohibited, but after Antolo had gotten fragged Amy had gone to him for protection from the rest of the regiment. Well technically he had saved her from death, but that was a technicality. She hadn't even been twenty at the time she had shown up with her chainsword still gleaming with forge world newness. If anyone outside the regiment ever found out what was going on between them, daemons would be the least of their worries.

When the horde of mutants finally subsided, Daniels and several other Catachan were sent out to clear the bodies and keep their fields of fire open. The bodies kept piling up, sometimes almost to the ceiling and it protected the mutants coming up behind them. Daniels was dragging a particularly big mutant when he felt soft breath on his neck.

Whirling around with his shotgun, Daniels was lifted clean off of the ground by a daemon with purple skin and solid purple eyes that glimmered. She had a lobster claw in place of her right arm and she crushed his shotgun. She lifted his 300 lb frame like he weighed no more than an infant. The other Catachan couldn't get a clear shot and a fresh wave of mutants charged the barricade.

"Mm, what a big boy," purred the daemon running a finger down Daniels face. "I could just eat you up," said the daemon as she smiled and revealed teeth filed to needle sharp points.

"Frak off skank, you aren't my type," said Daniels trying to pull get his arm free to draw his fang.

"Tut, tut I don't like fowl language, especially from such a handsome man, but if you insist," said the daemon pulling Daniels towards her lips.

"Hey bitch!" The daemon looked to the sound of the voice and took a las bolt through the eye. It stumbled back hissing and shrieking, a viscous fluid leaving its eye. A revving chainsword took it full width across the chest and stomach and it ate hungrily through the daemons body as blood and bits of bone and flesh flew from the revving teeth. The chainsword whined as it ate through the body and it took on a strangled tone. The daemon fell in two pieces and its entrails spilled onto the hallway floor. Amy knelt down by its upper half.

"No one freks with my man but me. Get it bitch?" With that, Amy rammed the chainsword into the daemons face on full throttle and the daemons head disintegrated under the mono carbide teeth. Amy stood to her full height and turned to Daniels, purplish blue blood sticking to her uniform and face, chainsword resting across her shoulder. "Miss me?"she asked, a small smile on her face.

Gina was sitting against a bulkhead with whatever that slime stuff was in a semi-circle around her. It had followed her and boxed her in, but wouldn't come any closer. It was almost like it was keeping her here for something. She kept hearing something that sounded like singing and musical laughter and someone whispering her name, but there was no one around. She knew that it was warp craft, knew that the daemon was coming for her. It had caught her in the hallway once before and she had wept, but it had smiled like it was a game. It had let her go and told her that it would give her a five minute head start. Gina had ducked into vents, up ventilation shafts and gone through every nook and cranny that she could find. Still, only the automatic sealing of one of the void doors had spared her from being caught a second time. The daemon had just watched her from the other side of the view port with gold and purple eyes. She knew that the daemon knew where she was, knew that it was just toying with her.

Heavy footsteps sounded down the hallway with a pronounced squelch on every step. Gina drew her knees in tight to her chest and buried her head, just wanting this nightmare to be over. The heavy steps stopped right in front of her and she found that she couldn't stop shaking. She risked a peek and instead of purple feet, she saw black heavy guard issue combat boots. Following it up, she saw it was followed by a Death Korps uniform with a plethora of weapons on it. One of which was a monomolecular sword sheathed at the hip. He was staring down at her, silent as the grave. It was Numbers. Or was it? Was this some kind of trick? It had to be, no one could stand in that sludge and survive, it was death.

"Just make it quick please," said Gina burying her face into her legs again. She heard the boots take another step towards her, then rough flak armoured hands reach under her legs and behind her back, picking her up. When she wasn't immediately devoured, Gina looked up and saw the same impassive brass mask as before, except now it was much closer. He was holding her almost gingerly, as if afraid to hurt her. Despite the joy that it was indeed Numbers and not a daemon, Gina couldn't shake the feeling of unease and dread around him.

He carried her down the corridor without saying a word, heading for the elevators to the higher decks. Gina didn't know what to say or if she should say anything at all, so she just stayed silent. As they walked down the corridor, a feral wandered into the hallway. Grunting and huffing it walked drunkenly until it stopped midstep, the sludge doing it no more harm that it was doing to Numbers. It turned towards them with sightless eyes and let loose a terrible howl before rushing towards them down the hallway.

A feral was a twist who had degenerated and lost their mind. Unable to reason or think, they attacked anything they could find and ate anything they could get their claws on. Gina yelled at Numbers to move, but he just stood fast and seemed to be just calmly waiting for the feral to come to him. When it got close, Numbers kicked it into the wall and when it tried to rise crushed its head with a powerful kick. Then he just kept walking.

AN: Well I know that this is a crappy place to leave it, but it's like 4 in the morning and I still have a lot of stuff I need (want) to write for this and I promised that it would come out today. Some parts of this chapter I'm a little iffy on but for the most part I'm pleased with it. For those of you wondering, Erich will not be getting with your friendly neighbourhood mutant. I did this partly to show that he is changing (albeit slowly) and will go against what he believes to be right to help a friend, ie helping a mutant and partly to show that he still has a lot of that noble arrogance that the Korps just couldn't train out of him. So next time expect sword fights, a confrontation with a daemon, and Erich finally getting to actually be deployed. I was actually planning to finish the ship sequence in this chapter, but at 35k that doesn't look like it's happening any time soon. Any comments or suggestions let me know and let me know if the story is going too slow and I need to pick the pace up a bit. Well thanks for reading and please review.

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