Tullius felt the Dark Eldar skimmer slide to a halt. He had been lying here for half an hour at the least, beneath a thin, black sheet of some unknown material. He was hauled to his feet. He was surprised the slim xenos could even lift him. Still under the sheet, he was led along...Somewhere. He tried to move his hands. He could not. He felt weak and powerless. It was an unusual feeling. He heard doors open, big ones by the sound of the hinges, and was pushed to his knees. Words. He listened in. "And so, of course, we knew that we would have to bring such a marvellous prize to your gloriousness immediately. Of course, such a bounty could not be gained without risk, but…" the words were strange, both honeyed and possessed of a raw acid. Another voice cut them off.

"Yes, I care not. Show me the slaves." The cloth was removed, and Tullius looked around. All but one of the gun crew was alive and there, as was Jorik and Seveyrali. He wasn't sure whether to be happy or disappointed about the last one. He then, with all the dignity his wounded, bleeding state would allow, looked at his captors. "Yes, very good. Marvellous. Send that one, that one, and that one," he pointed to three gun crew, "to the Haemonculi, and select another four at random for the Warp Beasts. You may have another five to share between yourself and your surviving Warriors. The rest you may leave with me. I will keep the big human from the ice world, and the snivelling fool, so you may not choose those ones for yourselves. Eliath!" So Bjargborn and Seveyrali were safe for now. A female figure slinked up to the throne. Tullius didn't see her for some time. Truth be told, he had been trying not to look at the throne and the whole area around it. The figure on it sent chills twirling and skating down his spine. The general characteristics were that of a Dark Eldar leader known as an Archon. He had only seen one once before. On a battlefield, down the sights of his sniper rifle, during his days as an Initiate. He had fired a single shot, but it had not even hurt it. It had turned to him, and even though he had been well hidden, he had known it had seen him. The female figure spoke. The voice was silky smooth, and it seemed to flow around him, invading his mind through his ears.

"Yes?" That one word seemed to make the Archon more relaxed.

"Ah, yes, Eliath. You may take the Astartes. You may do what you wish, but I want to see an Astartes in the arena within three realspace weeks." The woman nodded.

"Anything you desire." she then turned to Tullius. "You are to come with me." Tullius could do nothing as he was led away.

Raquel couldn't sleep. She had grown quite used to the tent she had shared with Ana, but the heavy rainfall and high winds on the planet, as well as the rapidly dwindling population, meant that the regiment had been moved into individual apartment blocks. It was comfier, but she missed the quiet conversations they had shared about very little when they weren't too tired to speak from the endless little skirmishes. She shoved her face down into the pillow. A tap at the window. She looked up suddenly. Ana was outside her window. She gave a slight smile, and went over to the latch. Ana tumbled into the room. She was soaking wet, and looked like she was freezing. "You know, they invented doors quite a long time ago," said Raquel, helping Ana to her feet. Ana was breathing heavily.

"Cultists. My room. Knives. Not sure how they got in. Snuck out the window. Help." Raquel's heart hardened.

"Wait here." Adrenaline was already starting to pulse through her veins. "Lock the door." She then left, melting into the shadows with barely a sound. She swiftly moved along the corridor, stopping outside Ana's room. There were voices inside. Three. Wait, four. Deep voices. Deep meant big. She readied herself. Bursting through the door, she was met with a brutal thrust from a cultist who was quicker than his compatriots. She dodged the thrust, and drove a knee into his groin. He keeled over, moaning. His fellow worshippers of Chaos attacked. She dispatched one with a spinning jump kick to the face, and landed on the balls of her feet. The other two slashed at her, but she dodged with a neat back handspring, her toes catching one under the chin. He staggered back, dazed, and she spun around, striking one in the throat with a knife hand. He dropped like a rock. The last one threw his knife. It slashed along her right bicep. She gave a grunt of pain, feeling blood begin to flow, and sucker punched him with her left arm. She the kicked him, hard, in the stomach, then the chest, then the neck. She felt his neck snap. Cradling her wounded arm, she began to walk back to her room.

Ana was still there. As Raquel staggered into the room, Ana was by her side. "What happened to your arm? You need a bandage!"

"Knife. Last cultist. Three knockouts, one dead. Bandage sounds good." The surgeon was likely asleep, and any medical supplies were locked away, so Ana ran through into the toilet to find some paper to soak up the blood. Raquel applied pressure to the wound until Ana returned with paper.

"Take off your shirt, I need to get a proper look at the wound." Raquel tried to pull off the loose cotton shirt she had worn to bed, but one arm just didn't cut it. Ana kneeled down to help her. She pulled the shirt off gently, trying not to hurt her squadmate, but Raquel still winced slightly when the cotton fabric brushed the wound. It was a nasty gash, about half a centimetre deep and quite long. Ana held the paper to the wound, but the flow of blood had already slowed down. Curious, she took the paper off. The wound was now thinning, and was now just a thin red line, scarcely bigger than a paper cut. Before her very eyes, it closed over. Raquel looked at her.

"I can explain this."

"So you're a mutant." Ana was taking this remarkably well. She had yet to punch Raquel in the face or run away screaming for help.

"Yes." Said Raquel, scared, "but, it's not what you think, I'm not a cultist, I'm just…"

"Ok." Raquel was baffled.

"Ok?"

"Yep. I don't really care. You're just stronger and faster. What's the problem with that?"

"Well, I also heal like some sort of…"

"Superhuman. You're fine by me." Raquel started babbling.

"Oh, thankyouthankyou you can't tell anyone thank you…"

"It's fine. Anyway, it's not like I can rat on you now you know my secret."

"What secret?" Ana made a slight gesture, and bright flame sprung into life. Right in the palm of her hand.

Tullius was strapped down. The Dark Eldar woman sat on a simple throne at the other end of the room. Well, simply made. It was made from carved bone. She was wearing the strange, impractical body armour common among the woman-warriors of her kind, showing off half her skin and hugging her lithe form closely. She was filing her nails. They were now lethal points. She examined them nonchalantly. "You know why I fight?" she purred.

"To kill. Butcher. Maim for your own amusement. I have seen your pleasure trips before." He let pure, undiluted malice drip into his words.

"Yes, there is that," said the Wych Succubus, "and very enjoyable it is too. However, there is another reason. Your people, you see, are a ripe crop. Full of pride and humility, courage and fear…" she licked her black-painted lips. "Delicious." Tullius gave a little shudder of disgust. "And of course, then you have the really prize specimens, like you. Warriors, champions, heroes, all brought back here to fight in the Arenas. And I own one of these arenas. So a glorious exhibit like you will fetch a massive audience." She stepped down from her throne. "And large audiences? They mean more violence. And more violence…" she licked her lips again. "Is just delectable." she then drew a blade. "I have to have you in the arena in three realspace weeks, but that does not mean I cannot have some fun first."

Raquel's question was swift, intelligent, direct, and beautifully phrased, given the circumstances. "Why is there fire? You made fire." Ana gave a shy little smile.

"I should probably start with where I come from. Little Civilised World, Ultima Segmentum. I was pretty much born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Attended a good school, smart kids there. Lots of them. Left every one of them behind. Within two terms, I was surpassing kids three years older than me. My parents set me up for a career as an Inquisitor. Then it happened. There was this kid at my school. Eighteen. Real jerk. I beat him in final exams. I was fourteen. Him and a few of his friends, they took me behind the garage. Started hitting me. One of them pulled a knife. They said they would…"She shuddered. "They said they were going to rape me and kill me. That was when it happened. I felt a sort of surge. Then I started to burn. Next ten seconds, they were all dead. Just...Piles of ash. I made a run for it. Hopped a freighter offworld, spent the journey hiding in the ship's hold. Tried to learn what I was. Eventually, I managed to figure out that I was a Psyker. Pyromancer, to be exact. I knew what the Inquisition did to people like me. Took us back to Terra on the Black Ships, fed us to the Emperor to keep the Astronomican alive. I didn't want that to happen to me. So I learned to hide it. Learned how to control it from wandering Psykers, hung around Psychic Nulls whenever I could. I joined the Guard. Anonymity, food and board. And that's how I ended up here. Remember that bomb when we disembarked? I lied. I wasn't lucky. I was protected. I made a shield of fire. That guy, the last in my unit? That hot metal I sorted his leg with? I heated that myself. I've been keeping my power under wraps for years, only using it when I won't be discovered, and just sort of praying that a Dæmon won't find me and turn my brain inside out. Quite frankly, it's a miracle that hasn't happened already."

"Whoah," said Raquel, awed at Ana's resilience and ingenuity, "and I thought my story was bad."

"Why? What happened to you?" Raquel thought for a second. Be careful. This could be a trick.

Be honest. It is the best policy. She began speaking. "Well, it was a dark and stormy night…stop looking at me like that, it was...and I couldn't pay my rent."

"Whoah. Gripping stuff."

"Oh, shut up. Anyway, there were three gangers, attacking me, and…"

Tullius stood, naked, in front of another Wych. She appeared to be much less evil than the other Wych, who had had her fun with him for what had seemed like days, cutting and cutting but never killing. His cuts had now healed over. This Wych seemed more interested in his muscle density. She was leafing through a thick book, which contained a variety of diagrams of Astartes. He was disconcerted to note that they had been drawn in terms of the positions of their veins and arteries. "Why was I brought here?" he asked, indignant but curious all the same.

"Hmm?" she seemed to have forgotten all about him. "Oh, yes. You are here to become a gladiator. Your race had something similar, did they not, in the annals of your history. The Romans. And, of course, there was that nasty business with Angron. Very unpleasant man. Utter brute, and only worse after the whole thing with those implants." She spoke like she had known the Traitor primarch personally. She might well have, given the long lifespans of these xenos. He growled. It was the first thing that came to mind for some reason.

"The Eater of Worlds was a traitor. Nothing more. And now, it is a Dæmon."

"A traitor to your kind, perhaps. Among my kind, what you would describe as treachery is a common social interaction. Our society is built on deception, and our leaders ascend on the broken backs of others. You would see it as a regrettable state of affairs, even an atrocity, but it is normal here."

"That explains much about your race."

"Offensive humour! Excellent. The crowds shall simply adore you. Are you indignant at your current predicament?"

"It is irksome, but I do not doubt that I will escape at some point to continue my mission."

"Which is?"

"To recover a human called…" he clamped down on his speech, shutting up. No doubt these beasts would love to have Raquel Menzanez as a contestant in their sick bloodsports.

"Oh, of course. Some sort of secret mission? How predictable. Well, I don't really care. I was simply being social. Ah, well, it doesn't seem to be your forte either." Overly talkative and a xenos. He disliked this one already. "Well, let's get started. Follow me." She paused. "And please, just put some clothes on. I don't particularly want to look at that." Nonplussed, he pulled on a pair of loose trousers of some unknown material that were lying on the workbench, which fit him, and followed.

"And now I'm here," finished Raquel.

"Whoah. That's rough," said Ana, impressed, "but mine is worse."

"Agreed. And when did this turn into a competition?"

"Just now. I won." Raquel smiled.

"Nuts." Ana's face became slightly more serious.

"Well, I guess that's twice you've got hurt saving me."

"The first one was kinda my fault. Should've killed that guy."

"Yeah. Still, it was a good shot from Carson."

"I didn't see it. How was it?".

"Great. Straight through the window. Almost as good as your knife work."

"That was a good grenade throw back in that firefight a week or two back."

"Thanks. It's all in the elbow, really. Like, you have to use your wrist for direction, and you use your shoulder for longer-distance throws, but really, the elbow is where most of my power comes from." Raquel gave a laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"It's just that if you asked me about two years ago, I would have absolutely no idea about any of this. I wonder what changed."

"You got all grown up, mutated to become quite possibly the most physically fit unmodified woman in the Segmentum, and beat the crap out of a Space Marine. That's what caused you to change."

"Plus, I had about two years in a cargo hold with nothing to do except practise my skills."

"You spent two years practising? Whoah."

"Yep. I had a lot of free time, and I had to sneak into the galleys for food quite a lot."

"All those times they ran out of chocolate nutrient paste before I could get any…"

"Sorry." Then they almost burst out laughing, before remembering that Raquel's arm was covered in her own blood, and Ana's room was full of half-dead cultists. And one dead one. They sat and talked for a while, eventually getting onto the subject of Mickey. "That guy's like some sort of boy trapped in a man's body."

"Teenager trapped in a man's body." Again, they almost laughed. Then, there was a knock on the door.

"Mierda." Raquel said quietly.

"Hey, Raquel? You in there?" It was Molders. "I knocked on Ana's door, but no-one answered. We've got a cult HQ in the Underhive, and the powers that be want everyone on station." Raquel looked at Ana. Ana looked at Raquel. Raquel's face was coated with blood from a cultist's nose, and her own blood was still on her arm. If Molders looked closely at her before she could get full armour on, including some sort of facemask, she would be stuffed. Her brain raced. How could she stop Molders from looking at her for any period of time? She turned to Ana.

"Take your shirt off," she whispered hurriedly. Ana complied without question, seeming to understand what Raquel was trying to achieve. Molders opened the door, and walked in on Raquel and Ana lying shirtless on the floor, entwined in a position that suggested a particularly enjoyable evening. He quickly shut the door again.

"I won't tell Mickey, but get your kit on and get ready!" They looked at each other, and quickly pulled their flak armour on. Raquel pulled on a bandana.

"That's a good look for you," complimented Ana.

"Thanks. It's literally just a piece of scrap cloth I found in a dump on patrol one evening." They then walked towards the door. Go on. You are probably never going to get another chance like this. "Hey, Ana?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to go and get a drink after we've burned the corpses in your room?"

"Okay."