I pulled the trigger of Kharn, firing several lasers. Unfortunately, hip fire isn't as accurate in real life as it is in Call of Duty. While that was a shame, it was a far larger shame that I didn't hit anything. And by anything, I really meant anything. I think they all went out a window.

The cultists, renegades, whatever at this point looked at each other, waited a moment, then stared at me. They brought their mixture of lasguns and M16's or whatever they had up to their shoulders, aiming directly at me. One guy even brought out a grenade, tossing it slightly up in the air, looking rather intimidating.

"Shit," I loudly said. I dolphin dived behind the archway, hearing the blasts of autoguns and the crackles of lasguns filling the room I just left. A grenade appeared a few feet from my feet, and I really do think I had a panic attack.

I scrambled like some eggs away from that thing. I was terrified for my life. I turned onto my back, army crawling like a boss. I was hyperventilating, breathing sporadically and really not getting the air I needed to sustain running away.

I heard an explosion behind me, damn near destroying my eardrums. Remember when I said I'd lost my hearing so long ago? Okay, this time, I mean it. That was loud. I felt a sharp pain on the back of one of my legs.

I stopped crawling as I realized something. They are called frag grenades because they have FRAGMENTS in them! Holy fucking shit, dude! I probably have one of those in my legs. If I live, this will be a baller tale to tell. I turned over onto my back.

My leg felt the heaviest it's ever been. It sunk to the ground, anchoring me in place. As it hit the floor, I think it shoved the fragment deeper into my leg. Either way, I think I heard one of those cultists howling in pain. Definitely not me because I am manly. Very manly.

That said, I reached for Kharn, attempting to cradle him. He was always there for me. Well, except this time. I tried looking for him, and I found him on the other side of the room. I don't think I had the strength to crawl over there, especially with this burden we'll just call a fucked up leg because that's what it was.

So I also got a decent look at my fucked up leg. What I saw was the opposite of pretty. On the front, it was gucci man, but on the back? It was like an oil spill, except with blood. Grimdark. I think I've thoroughly stopped caring about everything at this point. I'm going to die, and that's the end of it.

Tzeentch, dude, why? I thought when you said five years, I would actually live that long. I guess there are no guarantees in my fate, huh? I'm giving it a good thinking. My soul's going straight to the master planner. My juicy, delicious soul. The thing that, you know, would have been safe. Is it any different from a real imperial's? With how old I am, I guess it would be just a tad bit different.

Why did I consort with the dark gods? The ruinous powers are some crazy drugs, I'll tell ya. They make you do anything, and that includes the worst things. You really start thinking about your life decisions when you're on your death… floor? Not quite a bed, but it works.

I shouldn't have shoved that one chick away way back in my senior year. She really was a good influence, you know? She was nice, she always enjoyed joking around, but at the same time, she was clean, innocent. I mean, she had her fair share of problems. She really was more like a dude, and I'm fairly convinced she would have destroyed me in a 1v1 IRL. Then again, what does it matter?

I looked up after a couple of minutes of thinking, and saw a renegade standing over me. "Oh, loyalist, you've chosen a poor day to die!" He looked up to the ceiling. "Khorne, I hope you relish in this sacrifice, and the blood to follow!" He then started praying and praising the blood god. He was always my least favorite. His fans were just as ignorant as his followers.

Speaking of sick burns, I saw he dropped his autogun in exchange for a knife. I grabbed that during his little tirade about blood this, blood that. I pointed it straight at his leg. He would feel my pain. Gotta love schadenfreude.

"Let the galaxy burn," I said. He looked down and actually gasped. How he didn't suspect I would do this, I don't know. I shot that guy's kneecaps to hell. This is why you don't fuck with the mob.

Well, in actuality, I pulled the trigger, he fell down, and the gun's recoil knocked it out of my hand. I was able to get off one faint sounding shot. I'm fairly certain I was still recovering from the grenade. That dude started screaming, probably angry he couldn't finish his monologue.

He started to move towards me, and I tried backing away. It was a full on crawl brawl. I did a crawling roundhouse kick on his face, and was amazed when it knocked off his gas mask. The dude was actually frothing at the mouth! You see why I hate Khornates?

I saw him raise his knife up, and rolled off to the side, feeling the burn from my fucked up leg. His knife tinked on the concrete floor. I grasped the autogun, and swung back towards him. I pointed the gun at his face. Had to think of something awesome.

"You're gay." A single blast silenced him and ended his tantrum. I put the gun down calmly next to me, and I kicked the new corpse off of me. Not my finest work, both in the wordplay and combat department, but it did well enough.

I looked at my bud who I had a little scuff with and saw just what kind of damage I did. His face was mangled, and a large piece of skin was peeled off, having a small bit of skull and some flesh attached to it loosely. I could see little pieces of brain splattered over his head, and I could see a portion of the inside of his head, which was a red and white mess.

I tossed myself away from that abomination. I smashed my hands on the ground. I started to try to crawl away, despite the pain in my fucked up leg. I almost threw up just from the sight of that… My handiwork. Fuck dude, I didn't hate the guy that much! I always thought it'd just be a small hole that dripped blood, not full on carnage! This was awful. I was awful. This is why I liked Kharn. He cauterized every wound, at least from what I saw from the orks.

Plus, the orks weren't human. I couldn't feel for them. They were humorous in death! They were a joke. But this wasn't a joke. I peered over my shoulder at the mess. I regretted it immediately and kept looking at the ground as I pulled on the ground. Little wet spots started dotting the ground. I wasn't fucking crying, okay?!

When I finally hit a wall, I cuddled up against it. The wall was my friend. If I were huddled against the wall, they would probably think I died. Plus, I was bleeding, so they probably assumed I died anyway. It was hard to crumple, but once I did, it was so inviting. I loved the sweet embrace of myself. Then again, it was myself that created this tragedy, huh?

My hearing started to come back, and I heard yells, lasguns, autoguns, some more explosions. Standard affair that I didn't care much about. I'd die anyways. I deserved to die for what I did. I know it was him or me. I know he was in a rage. But I could have admitted my involvement with chaos and teamed up with him. Then I'd have to kill Dekaff or Clarissa. You don't win with chaos.

God, I could have had a nice death on the front line, had a massive ork slug in me, maybe be in pieces because of a rokkit, all the good shit. Instead, I got rekt by a grenade. I can see why kids hate the noob tube now. It's almost as bad as dying from a throwing knife to the pinkie toe.

That said, I thought things were dying down. Or maybe I was dying, and consciousness was slipping away from me. Either way, things were quieting down. Soon, there would be silence. You know, that sounds way more terrifying when you're sitting there with your fucked up leg, cradling yourself while in your mind the saddest song is being played on the violin. Did I mention I was thinking about that?

Dying sucks. I thought that as I turned one last time to look at the room. The rim of my vision started fading to darkness, and I could hear the faint sound of someone yelling. I then saw the sergeant come out from behind the archway. How she got there, I didn't really care. I think she looked at me and then started pacing towards me.

I know that was the last thing I saw.


Ha, gotcha, punk. Thought I was dead? Wrong! Nah, don't worry, I thought I was dead, too. Instead, here I am on some sort of table. I looked down and saw my leg seemed to be… Almost perfectly fine? What the fuck, dude? Was that a dream? If Tzeentch did that, I will pimp slap him on my way out. That shit isn't funny.

I looked around the room. There were some medical looking appliances and some red crosses. I am amazed that the red cross is still popular in medical arts. I wonder if that little needle thing with wings is still popular? It was cooler than a cross. Then again, a red cross is amazingly simple to remember.

Some guy in an outfit walked in with a metal clipboard. Get used to metal being everywhere. In the grim darkness of the 41st millennium, there is only metal. Anyways, the dude looked vaguely like a doctor. He looked up at me, and his mouth went into a 'O' shape as he stared at me. He looked back down at the clipboard, examining it, then back up.

He then turned around and walked out. Jesus, do I look that bad? I'll admit, I haven't really worked much on making myself look good, but that's a real low blow. I wish I had a mirror. Once again, I was alone, hoping to god I wasn't actually dead. Actually, I suppose I would hope to Tzeentch now, huh? That'll be weird. Weird and heretical. I like it.

So get this: The dude comes back after a few minutes, and the sergeant is with him. That's cool, it's always nice seeing a halfway decent face that I can recognize. I waved at her, and her mouth dropped into an 'O' as well. I swear if Tzeentch morphed half my face into some sort of bird… Thing, I'll be REALLY pissed off. He'll be getting at least 5 angry texts already. I should block his messages, as well. That'll teach the god of fate not to fuck with me.

But then Clarissa goes ahead and walks over to me, then straight up hugs me. Christ, dude, we talked every other day, is it really necessary to do this? I was only out for what felt like a few hours, at most. "I can't believe how fast you've recovered, Joker." She then lets go and stares at me. I wanted to say something, but nothing came up.

The doctor guy spoke up. "It usually takes victims of a fragmentation grenade at least two weeks to recover, but you only took about five days." I WAS OUT FOR FIVE DAYS?!

"Seriously!? Dude, think of all the stuff I missed!" Dekaff might have gotten a girlfriend for all I know! Unlikely, knowing the dude, but hey, love can bloom on the battlefield.