"Behind every mask there is a face, and behind that a story."-Marty Rubin

It was over, the siege, the short-lived war, the battle with the daemon. All of it over, B-52 could hardly believe it, and he'd seen it all in his years as part of the Korps. Fighting had ended over seventy-two hours ago, they'd mopped up the last of the mutants, any un-mutated bandits left had either surrendered or retreated into the badlands. Once the Maelstrom had cleared communications from command had begun to disseminate again. The rest of the massive bandit army, as though free of some invisible control, was scattering to the winds. Imperial forces didn't bother chasing them.

Now it was clean up and quarantine time, they'd been separated, all who'd been part of the maelstrom assault, those who had been in the presence of the Daemon. Disarmed they'd been shepherded into makeshift camps, ringed with chainlink fence topped with razorwire, and here they'd remain as each and every one was monitored for signs of taint. Having been through the process once before B-52 felt no particular worry about it. He was sure he and his team would be fine. Speaking of his team…

They'd done admirably, especially for being so relatively inexperience, and quickly trained. Once this was all officially over he looked forward to continuing their training properly. He was certain they'd make fine candidates for a grenadier squad. The Watchmaster was even thinking of leading them himself, B-63 had seemed to vanish as of late, so perhaps it was time he took up the mantle of grenadier again. There were many other fine instructors for the new conscripts besides.

These thoughts swirled in the Watchmaster's head, as he gaze out across the temporary encampment for them, tents set up for quite a ways. Fence just visible in the distance, and beyond that the ravages of the short, but brutal siege. Conscript crews were currently clearing no-mans-land, digging mass graves, burning piles of corpses, and clearing machine wreakage by the tonnage. By comparison those in the camp had it easy.

"Never easy," B-52 looked to his right, the figure of Sergeant Grime framed by the rising sun, the Hoarfell Sergeant was gazing with him at the aftermath. "Think I recognize you, hard to tell with the masks and all, but if I remember right you're pals with Watchmaster B-63 right? Seen you two around over the years..." Grime let his line of questioning hang for a bit, giving B-52 ample opportunity to dismiss any such relation he had with him as a mistake. However, the Watchmaster was feeling talkative today, and it was rare he ever had conversation, actual conversation, outside of the Korps and B-63 anymore.

"Yes, though I haven't seen much of Watchmaster B-63 lately." He replied back, Grime looked away for a moment, his features going stoic.

"Oh, has he..."

"Died?" B-52 preemptively responds, it was a common enough occurrence, the Sergeant couldn't be faulted for expecting such an outcome. "No, I don't believe so, but I don't think we'll be seeing much of him and his squad anytime soon."

"Ah, that's too bad, good boys and girls he has, got on well with my mob. What little time we worked together anyway, you know that for sure?"

"Just a gut feeling," B-52 spoke quietly, he missed his friend.

"Still get those huh? Thought the Korps would've beaten that out of you by now." The Hoarfell Sergeant chuckled in good humor. B-52 remained silent on said subject, the 82nd had certainly tried…

Grime noticed, clearing his throat in the silence, though not offering an apology. It suited B-52 just fine, the Sergeant was just being conversational was all, a skill the Watchmaster was understandably rusty at. A companionable silence stretched for a while after that, both men watching the sun rise, taking in the scenery of a battlefield recovering from war.

"B-52…B-63…I remember your world you know, Baurin." B-52's head slowly turned to give the Sergeant his attention, Grime wouldn't meet his masked gaze though, recalling memories. "Shame that was, it was beautiful, damn 'Nids. I remember the militia, you were part of that right? The 121st tried to get some of you, but the Korps, they had proper claim, lost the most men in defense of the world. Shame what they do to all of you, too bad really, but I'll be damned if I can deny the effectiveness though."

After a few pregnant moments of silence B-52 responded. "There a reason you bring that up?" His tone was somewhat bitter he realized. Grime just shook his head, staring at the horizon, that faraway look in his eyes that all veterans of the Guard get.

"None at all, just a dumb old Guardsman, reminiscing about past campaigns," he chuckled, and then turned, starting to walk away. "You take care of your boys and girls B-52, I get the feeling we'll be seeing each other again, I hope B-63 will be around too." He called before getting out of range.

B-52 stood there, turning slowly back to look again at the risen sun, he wasn't quite sure what to think.

Raltia sat across from her friend, watching her contently as the Randon woman ate her breakfast, or what passed for it. She looked down at her own tray… at least it wasn't field rations. Sunra had only gotten out of the examination tents earlier that day. Those who had had more drastic reactions to the 'event,' as their commanders were calling it, had been placed under stricter observation, and received more intensive screening.

She'd been there to greet her friend when she'd walked out of the tent. She'd given Sunra a bone-crushing hug when the woman had emerged. It had been uncertain if her fellow droptrooper would be okay, she'd reacted rather strongly.

"So, I was really that bad huh?" Sunra spoke around a mouthful of food, Raltia nodded. "That sucks, didn't even get to see this damn thing, can hardly remember the whole battle really. And you're saying that your tiny butt carried me through most of it?"

"I didn't really have much of a choice, and believe me you should be glad you didn't see… whatever that thing was. There are some people who went as mad as the bandits when they did I heard, we were really lucky, especially since we were so close." Raltia put in, picking at her eggs, at least that's what they looked like…

"Is it true that some Emperor delivered saints came and saved everyone's bacon? I've been hearing the whispers while we've been around this morning, that's some crazy keck right there." Raltia smiled at her friends use of her native worlds curse of choice.

"They definitely looked like it, whatever, or whoever they were. Didn't stick around though, it's like they just disappeared once they killed that thing, Sergeant Joss said to try not to talk about it though, so I wouldn't bring it up in conversation too much." The Surrin woman cautioned, the rumor mill was in high gear, what with the general supernatural nature of the whole event.

"Damn! So pissed that I had to go and have some sort of episode," Sunra despaired, somewhat mockingly and somewhat serious. "Hey you seen Eli or any of the boys? They okay?"

Raltia shook her head. "Not since the end of the battle, last I saw they were fine, except Hack wasn't with them..." she shook her head. "Anyway, how was this 'screening' we've gotta go through, my numbers not up until dinner time, what did they do? Didn't take core temperature right? I'd rather not get a thermo shoved up my-"

Sunra burst out laughing, food spraying onto the table. "Oh, what happened to the shy, new splat I used to know," she grinned at the Surrin.

"She's seen a few things by now is all." Raltia rubbed her right shoulder, her somber tone lightening up toward the end, she didn't want to ruin the mood. News of Hack had already almost done that most likely, well rumor… he was probably dead.

"Well, no they didn't do anything like that, had one of the psych's do their mind voodoo," she waved her hands around her head, gesticulating strangely. "Priests did their own thing, questions about feelings toward the Emperor, showed me a few pictures of holy sights and saints, held 'blessed' objects to me. You know see if I'll start deriding the 'Corpse God' and yelling about blood, skulls, sex, or spontaneously catch an S.T.D," she chuckled.

"What did you tell them?" Ralria asked, genuinely curious how the fiery woman had responded.

"Told the snetches to frak off, I loved the Emperor, and I loved killing his enemies. Said that I may have a bit of an itch down there, but I'm pretty sure that's from not getting to shower for a week." Her grin was infectious. Raltia wasn't so surprised, it was typical Sunra, typical Randon really.

"Hope I'll be okay, I didn't have a bad reaction like you, or even like some of the others that were there and still conscious, it was shocking, and there was a slight pain… I got over it quickly though. Started shooting before anyone else around us did. Next thing I know, I'm not even feeling sick anymore, just calm and ready to fight. And, I know what you're gonna say 'Ral, it was just your training kicking in, you were just on point,' but the thing is… I know that wasn't it. I felt like I could resist whatever was happening to all of us, better than anyone else." Shoulders slumping at the admission, Raltia looked to her friend, who wore a serious look for once.

"… You thinking about taking skulls for his throne Ral?" Sunra asked with mock seriousness. Raltia had the humor to look taken aback, and insulted.

"Keck no, those snetches can roast in the warp," the Surrin woman spoke with a laugh.

Sunra cracked a smile at her friend. "I think you'll be just fine Ral."

Xavier was staring at the dog-tags hanging from his outstretched hand. Sergeant Grime let him keep them, managed to fudge the report so that the munitorum wouldn't get a hold of them. He'd been taking it hard, they all had, how couldn't they? Two campaigns, dozens of battles, and countless hours of just being around each other. Now that one of them was gone, it just felt wrong, it hadn't been the same when Garvel had died.

That was their first battle, it was strange, but oddly expected. Since then, it was like he'd had the thought in the back of his mind that they'd payed the due. That from there on it'd be the four of them against the galaxy, and they'd come out on top. It'd been so embedded in his subconscious that this whole thing was affecting him entirely too much. Grime had tried to prepare them for this, he'd said to be ready to cope with it, countless times when he'd talk to them.

Though now, with the last reminder of who'd become a very good friend, a brother even, dangling from his fingers, Xavier wondered if he'd be able to do it.

"Hey, Xavier," Cain plopped down heavily next to him, his friend glanced at the tags. "How's old Hack doing? Still shiny I see, gonna need to hide that when we go out on recon next, or he'll give away our position. Hack wouldn't want to do that."

Cain seemed to be taking the whole thing the best out of their group. Xavier had found a new respect for their squad clown, always chipper, in the beginning he'd seemed like he'd be the type to have the most trouble. But, he'd been surprisingly adept at holding them together, when it wasn't the Sergeant it was him.

"Yeah, I'll have him tucked in next to mine and taped." Xavier said placing the tags around his own neck. He'd have to be careful about that, it was technically an offense to be wearing another guardsman's tags, interfered with proper identification. "Eli almost done with his check-up yet?"

"You can ask me yourself," the marksman spoke as he walked up, plopping down on Xaviers other side. "Nice view by the way, don't think I would've picked it though, not enough girls."

They were overlooking the camp they'd been placed in until they were all processed. While the scenery of the temporary tent city wasn't particularly appealing, the sunrise just beyond was, and it was quite breathtaking. Strangely beautiful, even with the ravages of war in silhouette, it was just starting to rise high enough to illuminated the clean-up crews.

"Could go find Sunra for you..." Cain spoke nonchalantly. Eli flinched a little at the mention of the Randon woman, they never did find out fully what had happened, and the marksman was mum on any details aside from the obvious.

"No, that's okay, here is good. Something calming after having the priests and docs poke, prod, and question me is just what I need." He quickly deflected the idea. Which was too bad, Xavier wouldn't mind seeing Raltia, where Sunra was the Surrin woman was sure to be too. The three stayed silent for a while, it seemed the whole camp was silent, maybe everyone was processing their experiences with the battle.

"You hear anything about your friend Jericus? Been a bit right?" Cain asked idly. Truth be told with Hack, the siege, and then the assault with that thing at the end, Xavier had hardly thought about his old friend.

"No, I don't think he and his squad were part of the battle, just a feeling. I think they're fine though..." he took a breath gathering his thoughts. "Alive anyway."

Cain simply nodded, shifting in his place to get more comfortable.

"We should have a drink in Hack's honor, when we get out of here. We'll Invite Raltia… and Sunra, Jericus and his squad too if we can find them, our boy deserves it," Eli volunteered. Both Xavier and Cain were touched by their friend's suggestion. It wasn't too original, but then this was Eli they were talking about.

Xavier smiled, putting his hand on the tags now under his shirt. "Sounds like a plan to me."

This had been a hard campaign, but Xavier felt that with each others support, they could weather anything. Hack would not be forgotten.

B-63 couldn't believe this, it wasn't right, but then he'd expected something like this to happen eventually. The whole situation ate at him, but there was nothing he could really do, his hands were tied. In this world he was out of his depth, he wasn't in the guard anymore technically, he was part of the Inquisition. What Dauntless said goes, and he'd be a fool if he were to disobey the orders laid down on him, it'd do none of them any good.

On the surface Dauntless seemed to be quite the upstanding type. B-63 had always knew there was another side to him though, not necessarily bad, but certainly flexible. More concerned with the over all good, than with small trifles, as he would no doubt call them. With that in mind what he'd done wasn't so bad. From the point of basic human decency though, it was downright horrible… but he had no choice. Dauntless was his superior, these were his orders, and like with the Korps, he had no choice but to follow them.

He'd still stew over it as much as he could though… and at least the room he was in had a bar, fully stocked too. The Watchmaster hadn't had such a luxury since before he'd joined the 82nd. Right now he was enjoying some really top shelf stuff, the Baurin practice of alcohol consumption was alive and well, too bad he had no one around to drink with. A knock sounded at his door.

"B-63, can I come in?" Scratch that, he did have a cog-girl, one that actually still had a stomach and mouth. Even if they were artificial, he probably wouldn't entertain the idea if he wasn't a bit tipsy, but at the moment he wanted the company.

"Sure, door's open," he spoke, glancing over to his left, right at his mask. He'd taken it off, first time in a while, it lay on the bar staring up at him with its rictus grin. He heard Kerelia enter, shutting the door behind her, heavy footfalls betrayed the various mechanical enhancements she'd installed over the years. He saw her settle on the stool beside him in his peripheral vision, something he wasn't used to, the mask removed a good amount of that awareness usually.

"Hitting the bottle a little early huh?" Her tone was playful, though he detected the concern hidden there, he felt bad about that. He didn't like to worry her. "You have your mask off..."

"Thought Magos' didn't like stating the obvious," he quipped back. It was unfair of him, he'd met a good amount of servants of the machine god over the years. They were like everyone else in their own way, most of them were different from each other, Kerelia maybe a bit more so than others. He caught her frowning, it was odd since she had no eyes, the optics showed little emotion. Though they did seem to slump a bit as the lens adjusted.

"I know this will be hard for you, you liked those two, I can tell. But look on the bright side of things..."

"What bright side? It's crap and everyone knows it, what real good will come from it, he's just being a controlling bastard is what it is." B-63 turned to fully look the cog-girl in the optics, rare emotion welling up in his speech. That would be the alcohol… damn it. He felt her hands come up to either side of his head, steadying his gaze, he saw her optics focus on his eyes, a sign she was concerned.

"It'll be for the best, you'll see, don't forget I've known Dauntless for a long time. He always has good logic behind the things he does, and you heard him, it's not likely to be permanent. For now though please go along with it, for the sake of everyone else at least, it's important for you to be a strong leader." She plead with him. B-63 let his head rest in her strong grip, the alcohol was just making him a bit too emotional was all, he was on board with the whole thing. Kerelia knew that, and Dauntless did too, but it was nice to have someone to talk to about these things.

Watchmaster B-63 prepared himself to be strong, to do his duty.

It was a familiar sound, the steady beep of machines, monitoring his vitals, and other things. His natural eye opened first, followed by the mechanical whirr of his augmetic optic. He felt off, likely because of losing so much blood, and his memory was a bit hazy at first. Pieces of what happened were far off, as though it were a dream, unfortunately for Jericus the painful parts came back to him all too soon.

He sat bolt upright, startling a nearby medicae, her expression a look of surprise. He looked into her eyes, green, just like… Sudden metaphysical pain flared in his chest, his heart clenching, his mind reeling. The medicae seemed to become uncomfortable, slowly edging out of the room, his piercing gaze followed her. Though he wasn't seeing her, more like a ghost, a horrible reminder.

When she was finally out of sight, he turned his attention to the room around him, fairly standard as far as medical facilities went. Wires and drip-feeds trailed from him to various monitoring, and solution administration devices, some which he couldn't immediately recognize, then again he wasn't exactly an expert. Looking around he could see his battered uniform and armor close by, folded and hung on a nearby rack, his mask stared at him with its perpetual frown.

Eyes shifting to himself he noticed he was covered in a hospital gown, he felt strange in his own skin, though he noticed there was now even less of it than before. Much like his right arm, he now had an augmetic left leg, same kind of build, so another of Kerelia's spares then. He flexed the tiny skeletal digits that passed for his new toes, he found it easy, probably because of his experience with the arm. Thinking about arms… he looked to his left arm, it had been mangled fairly badly, the muscle severed from what he'd felt, and bone sheared. There seemed to also be an augmetic there, his forearm now encased in some sort of fibrous material, covering what was likely a very nasty mess of scar tissue. It seemed as though it replaced whatever muscle he lost, holding the arm together, he could feel tendrils of it through his forearm, it wasn't painful.

"Ah, still awake then." The familiar voice of Dauntless spoke, startling Jericus from his contemplation, and bring his gaze to meet the Inquisitor's. Standing in the doorway Dauntless struck the usual composed figure, his features smiling, but reserved. "Wasn't sure you'd still be up when I got here, the medicae have been reporting you fitfully coming in and out of consciousness for a few days now, but I'm told you'll make a full recovery."

Full recovery… his mind shifted back to unpleasant thoughts. Maybe there was hope? He'd come through almost as bad, and she was always strong, maybe she was recovering too? His lips and voice didn't want to work, and he found himself gaping like a fish for air, Dauntless moved closer in the meantime. Coming to stop right beside his bed, the Inquisitor looked him over, his gaze questioning for a moment, before seeming to come to quick realization.

"I-is-," he choked on the words, he couldn't get them out, wanting to hold on to the hope. Realizing that said hope could be dashed if he got his answer, he didn't want to hear it, but he had to.

Dauntless had already caught on, his expression becoming somber, conciliatory. "I'm afraid that Miss Ishta is no longer with us, she died of her wound, too much trauma to the heart. We couldn't get her stabilized."

The words hit Jericus like a Baneblade, he felt his guts clench, heart shot through with pain. He didn't notice a few of the machines around him start to fizzle, their readings going haywire. He didn't notice Dauntless become increasingly uncomfortable, eventually feeling actual physical pain, clutching his head with one hand. Jericus didn't scream, or sob, that was beyond him. He wrestled with the terrible emotions running through him, they didn't want to be quelled, but he battered away at them with his will. Quashed them down into the muck of his mind, burying the mess under training, and indoctrination.

He felt peace envelop him, though it had nothing to do with his enforced self control, no it was due to the sedatives Dauntless had just injected into him. He looked to the Inquisitor questioningly, Dauntless' face looked to be in a grimace, his features spoke of extreme concentration.

"Sorry about the sedative, but your null field has gotten incredibly intense, these should help relax you. I understand it's due to your grief, and I'm sorry, but it's quite painful for me to be around you if you're like that. I'll work on getting a limiter for you soon, so it's not a problem for me, or anyone else, with that amount of power you'll be affecting even baseline individuals. Until then this will have to do, we'll speak more when you wake up again." Dauntless laid Jericus back down on the bed, the Surrin's consciousness slowly slipping from him, he fell into blank sleep.

Schmidt was on a mission, he'd taken all the time he could to gather his thoughts on things, the immediate stress of wounded friends and comrades, followed by tense hours of waiting for them to stabilize had been trying. Then Dauntless had to go and drop the bomb on them all, said it all matter-of-fact like, and what's worse he knew they'd all go along with it. Well he was going to give the Inquisitor a piece of his mind!

"Legionnaire this is not a good idea, it's not our place to question an Inquisitor, it is our honor to serve," Virtanen had been trying to stop him from going through with this for an hour now. He was stubborn though, and so far her attempts had yielded no results.

"Again with tha' 'Legionnaire' crap, thought you'da stopped with tha' since Gunther's dead now lass, then again maybe he was righ' about you," his words were a bit of a low blow, he knew it, after all it was just in Virtanen's nature. Like so many other things were in his. They'd seemed to come to an understanding with each other as of late, since Gunther's death, but he shouldn't expect old habits to die so easily. Hell the fact that the blue-blood woman was even trying to stop him from doing this out of concern for him was a huge change. Before he was sure that she probably wouldn't have entertained the idea.

He was almost to Dauntless' room now, a private suite, commandeered when they'd gotten back to Port-city. The pace of Virtanen's footsteps increased, soon the Scintillian was ahead of him, pivoting smartly on her heel to face and stop him in his tracks.

"You damn well know that's not true!" She spoke indignantly. "I'm trying here throne dammit, and right now all I'm trying to do is make sure you don't end up doing something stupid! I'm trying to help you Schmidt." She sounded genuinely concerned, even a little scared. Schmidt knew he had to do this though, he had to try and change what was about to happen, it wasn't right. Sighing he looked Virtanen in the eyes, and then he placed his hands on her shoulders, he felt her tense at the contact.

"Look lass, I appreciate it, your concern, but I hav' ta do this. Everyone knows this isn't the righ' call, you could see it on their faces. Throne even the newbies know this isn't righ', I've gotta try, gotta do somethin' even if it fails. I would'na be able ta live with it if I didn't." He spoke calmly, hoping it would get through to her.

"We both know there are some in the retinue that agree with the Inquisitor, and some just don't care Schmidt," her tone was also even, she stated fact, with all the confidence her upbringing instilled into her. He couldn't argue with what she'd said, it was true, but that hardly mattered to him.

"I know tha' too, even so..." He gently moved her aside, the blue-blood let him, and he walked up to Dauntless' door. Virtanen watched on, praying to the Emperor that he wouldn't do anything too stupid.

Schmidt didn't even bother to knock, simply opening the door, walking in with purpose. Shutting the opening behind him he looked around and spotted Dauntless quickly. The Inquisitor was in an armchair in the corner of the room, a cup of recaf in one hand, a data-slate in the other. He looked up at the legionnaire, his brow arching upward in question.

"Don' give me tha' crap, you know why I'm here Dauntless," Schmidt's voice was firm, not angry, he wouldn't allow himself to get angry in-front of Dauntless, at least not outwardly. The Inquisitor leisurely put down first his recaf, and then his data-slate, crossing one leg over the other as he then sat back in his chair.

"I'm sure I do, but as you know I've always advocated my subordinates to voice their concerns to me." His tone was conversational, calming, and utterly in control.

"Alrigh' I'll be straight to tha point then, don' go through with your damn plan, we've already been hit hard enough as is, do you really think this is gonna help anyone?" Schmidt clenched his hands idly, he'd thrown the ball in Dauntless' court now, waiting for the riposte.

"I do think this will help, it'll allow them to reach their full potential, as for the rest of you… well this is nothing new. We've done this sort of thing before, it'd be just like any other mission, and I know you're more than capable of carrying this out Schmidt," the Inquisitor explained.

"Full potential! Do ya even know wha' your blabbing on about! These are our people, your people. What's puttin' them through this gonna really do for 'em, you know what they've already been through, this is more likely to break 'em then help." Schmidt was impassioned, his arm sweeping forward, Dauntless took in the display calmly as ever.

"Jericus' abilities have been noted to increase when he experiences significant stress, directly linked to trauma he experiences on the battlefield. The first time was when he lost his arm and eye, the second I noted when he fought the daemon host on Endurholdgun, and now the most dramatic increase when he's under the assumption that Fenria is dead. The Imperium knows comparatively little about psychic nulls, and the data his experiences are providing may be invaluable, especially when it comes to a counter for the archenemy, and certain psychically attuned xenos." Dauntless spoke, his scholarly bent becoming obvious.

"Why lie to him though, tha's just cruel, he's already gone through the damn ringer. Just tell 'em both tha truth, and how's this help the lass? Wha's this gonna do to improve anything ta do with her? You're jus' causin' pain ya bastard y-" Dauntless held up a hand to cut him short. Schmidt was angry with himself for obeying the gesture, that was just his nature as a subordinate shining through, years of trusting the man seated before him.

"I know you're especially upset seeing as Gunther has passed on to the Emperor's side." Dauntless paused, meeting Schmidt's eyes, his gaze unwavering. "However, this and that are not the same, you should not concern yourself with this decision. It benefits Miss Ishta in that Sothy sensed some latent potential in her as well, their homeworld, Surris seemed to have a stable gene-pool of latent psychic-nulls. They're psychically all dull in comparison to a baseline human, and with her own severely traumatic experience, Miss Ishta seems to have activated her own dormant abilities. I know it seems cruel, but until I know they can be stabilized, it may be best for the two to stay unaware of each others survival. Further study is required on such phenomenon. Right now their reliance on each other, combined with their innate abilities could create a very dangerous feedback loop."

"What the warp are ya talkin' about Dauntless?" Schmidt narrowed his eyes, he was carefully considering the Inquisitor's words now, he only knew a little about 'blanks' as it were.

"You know the basics, a psychic-null field can be quite potent, ranging from causing slight discomfort to practically shredding peoples sanity away from them. Right now Mr Quint would be in the latter group, he's lucky I have access to limiters to contain his ability, judging by her spike recently Miss Ishta isn't far behind him. Though she took the news much better in comparison when I told her of his supposed passing. Those two together… well the results won't be pretty, and this is the best solution I can come up with until I know more. As I said when I addressed all of you, this should only be temporary," the Inquisitor explained.

Schmidt breathed deeply. "You really think they'll be understanding if down the road they find out before you tell them Dauntless? Even if they understand your reasoning, do ya really think they'll be particularly happy with ya? All tha' Korps trainin' driven into their skulls won't save ya from tha' reckoning I'd say, sure you want tha' Dauntless?" Schmidt tried one last attempt.

The Inquisitor smiled sadly. "I'm only doing what's best for them Schmidt, I'll accept the consequences if I'm wrong."

The legionnaire breathed deeply again. "Ya can be a righ' bastard Dauntless," turning he walked out of the room, knowing he'd lost.

"I know..." Dauntless said to the empty room, his voice melancholic.

She'd woken up two days ago, the Inquisitor had told her the bad news, she thought she ought to have cried more. It was upsetting, she felt like part of her died with him, but… well they both always knew she was the stronger of them. Despite that she kept her purpose clear, it hurt, but she was strong. It was a burden she could carry, as she'd been trained to by the Korps, currently staring out of the window of her room she took in the city, the world they'd saved.

Her recovery had been fairly quick, she'd been back on her feet, and into her uniform again after the fourth day. The Inquisitor had gotten her all of the best treatment he could, which was substantial, there was a mess of scarring on her face and upper chest, and she'd had her heart replaced with an augmetic. A memento mori, or reminder of death as they'd say in the Korps, she felt closer to Jericus because of it. The emotions were still raw, but she was dealing with them, very well in fact.

B-63 had been by, and the rest of the squad was currently sharing the room with her, S-548 and S-360 seemed to be keeping a respectful distance. Anyway, the Watchmaster had explained things to her, the squad had experienced a transfer of sorts. They were still under the overall command of Dauntless, but now they were under the direct command of the newly promoted Inquisitor Sothy. The woman had been being groomed for the position for a while apparently.

She still worked under Dauntless, though he'd split his team, so that they could pursue more than one case at a time. The two teams would be separate for a good while, following up on leads dealing with the fallout of the near Chaos incursion, and Necron awakening. It was heavily suspected that the mad witch had allies still on Headstone. From there the teams were likely to stay separate to keep cover.

Sothy had them, along with Corporal Jessmuck, the Brontians, and Kerelia guide as her new team. Dauntless kept the others for his own team. She was disappointed about this, she'd miss Schmidt, Virtanen, and the others. Hopefully she'd see them all at some point in the future, though that seemed far off, if what she'd been told was any indication.

She sighed sadly, remembering their first, and last kiss. It'd been a culmination of all their trials beforehand, everything they'd been through, too short, but much too sweet to forget. Turning back to her remaining squad mates she noted S-360 and S-548 speaking to each other. They watched a vid for entertainment, some sort of comedy, it hung in the background to whatever conversation they were having. Maybe they were discussing it, maybe they were talking about the past mission, or maybe something else entirely.

The thought came to her that she and Jericus might have been like that. She wondered if the two were near anything like they had been, in some ways maybe, but she felt in others they most certainly weren't. Those two seemed quite a bit more open about their relationship, especially since they were all inducted into Dauntless' retinue, it was a good thing really. Best for those kind of honest emotions, while they had the time, before things inevitably ended.

Her training had taught her about death, how to accept it, how to live with it all around her, how to embrace it. So, she decided to enjoy life, like Jericus would have wanted her to. She made her way over to the couch, taking a seat next to her two comrades. They were surprised, but not unwelcoming.

"Hey S-1050, interested in the vid?" S-360 opened up.

"Fenria."

"W-what?" S-548 spoke his voice one of slight disbelief.

"I want you two to call me Fenria from now on. Jericus remembered it for me, it'd be selfish to let it die with him, so please no more S-1050. My name is Fenria Ishta."

It was the second time that he woke up, he didn't know how long he'd been out this time, couldn't have been more than another day. Staring up at the ceiling he was running everything he'd been told, all of the facts through his mind. Feeling a difference on his body he looked down to his left wrist, still mostly his own flesh, there was some sort of bracelet there. The Limiter Dauntless told him about as he was being put out.

Ignoring it he started to get up again, there was no medicae to greet him this time, he was still hooked up to the machines though. He pulled the wires, and connections from him, freeing himself and swinging his legs to the side of the bed. Testing out if he could put weight on them he found that not only could he, but he could also balance on his new leg, the walk was short. His goal wasn't far, his uniform and armor were still there for him.

The motions were easy, he slipped everything on, quick and fluid as any other time. He left off the mask for a moment, looking into the scarred frowning skull motif, the dark lenses. Jericus felt that he could see himself in it, a reflection of his soul. Its straps wrapped around his head snugly, the helmet followed, soon he was all kitted up. Back to normal as it were, he heard footsteps, the door to his room opening.

Turning he expected to see Dauntless. Instead he was greeted by the sight of Schmidt, the man looked worn, as if he hadn't slept for a while. There was a weary smile on his face though, he was trying to be optimistic, the Korpsman felt it to be appreciated, but unnecessary.

"Good ta see ya up, been worried about ya, boss man sent me ta give you the low down on what's been going on while you were out. New team set ups, things are changing a little bit, but it should all work out for tha best." His tone was chipper, but his body language betrayed his unease. Over what, the Korpsman couldn't say for certain, maybe it was him? His null-field leaking through a bit?

Upon seeing that Jericus was simply staring at him Schmidt tried something different. "I know things are bad, losing Gunther… and Fenria, but I'll tell ya what. You've still got the rest of us, I'm here for you Jericus, n-"

"S-1049," the Legionnaire was cut off, he stayed quiet for a moment, not quite sure if he heard that right.

"Wha'?" Schmidt asked, a little lost, this was not how he'd imagined things going.

"My designation, is S-1049."

A/N: So, this is it, the last chapter. Conclusion to 'Our Masks', I'm not so sure about this, let me know what you guys think. I believe it to be suitably dark, but with a hint of hope. This won't be the last for these characters either, I plan on using them in future stories, maybe some exploring the side characters I didn't get to expand on as much in this story. Again I'd like to thank all those who've read this through, I hope it's entertained you, if not then I am sorry.

Shout-outs:

Imperial Servant- Glad to be back, for this short period anyway. I will be posting other stories in the future, hopefully to your enjoyment, thanks for reading all this way. Glad I could move you so, and I hope this ending will suffice, I realize its a bit hopeful, maybe too much so for 40k. Still, hope I got it good. You'll no doubt be seeing more of Jericus, Fenria and co. in the future. In other stories, or maybe a sequel, not too sure on any of that yet.

Rankorer- Happy to see you enjoyed the chapter, and story so much, did you expect this ending? Not sure I'd call it a happy scenario, maybe even worse to be honest, and possibly catastrophic in the future. Thanks again, and I hope you liked the conclusion.

Until next time folks, 300-709.