40K Journal

Initial Entry

For the record, when I'm "talking", as in speaking as an observer in an entry, they will be marked like so *X*.

*So…yeah…how the fuck do I explain this? Hi, my name's Ben, I'm 24, I'm in the Army National Guard…and I'm stuck in the 41st (42nd, who the fuck knows?) millennium. For those of you who don't know, meaning anyone from said millennium and anyone who isn't a gigantic nerd like myself in my world, I am presently residing (somehow) in the universe of Warhammer 40K. For those who are not in the universe and don't understand why this is a bad thing, Warhammer 40K invented the term "Grimdark", which is "a genre of fiction, characterized by disturbing, violent, or bleak subject matter and a dystopian setting." If that doesn't explain it, let me simplify it: Shit is fucked, constantly, no one is the "good-guy", and peace is an entirely alien concept.

And, some-fucking-how, I got stuck here, in the most terrifying sci-fi known to man…so why not journal a bit, huh? This is basically a last-ditch effort to preserve what little sanity I have left, so fuck it. Welcome to the 40K Journal, entry numero uno, the planet Freeport, where I woke up and realized PRECISELY how boned I was.*

Waking up to the smell of ash and gunpowder is usually the sign of a good time with your buddies at the farm in West Virginia after the bachelor's party. But, when you mix that with the smell of blood, guts, and decaying bodies, it becomes a significantly less fun sign.

I opened my eyes, blinking away the sleep, and sitting up, stretching. It occurred to me then, as I rolled my shoulders, that I didn't remember going to bed. This would be normal if I had been drinking heavily, as I still had my clothes on from the previous day, but I hadn't touched a drink in a week. As I opened my eyes fully, however, I realized that whether or not I had gone to bed wasn't my biggest issue; that was reserved for wherever the hell I was. I sat in the rubble of a building I don't remember being in, in a city I had no knowledge of, under the skies of a world I didn't recognize; the clouds a sickly gray-yellow, unfamiliar aircraft crisscrossing the skies, chased by tracer rounds, flak bursts, lasers, and anti-air missiles.

I shot upward, my feet finding the broken ground as I tried to get my bearings. Something screeched overhead behind me; my first instinct was to look, but the soldier's instinct told me to drop. Throwing myself to the ground, I was showered in dirt and rubble as an artillery shell landed somewhere in the ruins nearby, the shockwave and heated air passing over me in a wave. I got to a knee and took another look around, this time drawn to a roar in front of me. In the distance, a bulky aircraft rose from the ground, flanked by four others, and took off into the sky. Was that my ticket out of this hell, or was that an invasion point; a question that became irrelevant as I took off towards where the craft had come.

In the few minutes I had running through the unknown city, I was able to glean a few things; it was massive, jumbled, technologically advanced compared to my home, and had clearly been under siege for a long time. War signs in various states of ruin dotted the rubble, many in English, blessedly enough, and some in…Latin? I didn't worry about it at the time, noting the skull iconography that seemed to dominate the streets. A distant thought pinged in the back of my head, but I ignored it, focusing on someone or something who could tell me what the hell was going on.

As I broke into an intersection, I heard a clatter to my left. Turning my head, I looked to see a red light streaking at me from a building. I ducked, feeling heat pass over my head as I stumbled and fell to the ground. Behind me, concrete shattered and fell to the ground, presumably from whatever hellish weapon had just fired at me.

"Easy lass, he's human!" Called a thickly accented voice. I raised my head, my eyes meeting a group of six armored people with weapons staring back at me. Another pinged echoed through my mind, the armor and weaponry ringing faint bells, but I again ignored it. "You alright, lad?"

"I think so?" I called back, getting to a knee, "What's going on?"

"Sarge, I think he took a knock to the 'ead," came another thickly accented voice, this one lighter and less commanding than the first.

"You might be right, come here, lad!" The first man, Sarge called. I approached cautiously, still very uncertain as to what was going on.

"Bloody hell, we don't bite unless you ask, come one!" Said a third, deeper, less accented voice. I moved closer, entering the shattered building, finding myself in front of the six; three fair-skinned, two dark-skinned, and one woman, who was closer to my age.

"You know where you are, mate?" The third, corporal or a specialist, asked me.

"A warzone," was my automatic answer. The soldiers chuckled, barring the sergeant, who was older, fair skinned, with touches of gray around an unkempt beard.

"What Hive are we in, or planet are we on?" Sarge asked.

"It's not gonna matter much longer with these damn Orks, Sarge," said the second man.

For some reason, all at once, the terms clicked in my head. Orks, Hive, the mix of English and Latin, the weapons, the armor, and the accents. It was damn near all I could do to stop myself from having a break down right there as the realization hit me; I was in Warhammer 40K.

"Mate, you alright?" The corporal asked me.

"Yeah, sorry," I managed to say, "feels like I'm in a fog right now."

"Yup, head injury, Sarge," the woman, also a corporal or a sergeant, pipped up.

"Most like," Sarge said, "take a seat, lad, you look exhausted."

"He's not gonna have time for that, Sarge, we got Orks comin'," Said the forth man, a dark-skinned private. I turned, slowly moving down to a knee as the six Imperial Guardsmen all raised their rifles down the road.

Seeing an Ork in media or on the battlefield of a gaming table prepares you in no way, shape, or form to see way in real life. Tall, hulking, and brutish, the Boyz came in a cluster of eighteen, some armed with shootas, some with choppas, others with both, a Nob at their head. Around their feet scampered gretchin and squigs like a gang of sycophants, all vying for attention or whatever scraps they left. My stomach started churning as they came closer, crouching lower behind a ruined counter.

"Lad, you ever fire a rifle before?" Sarge asked me.

"Never a lasgun," I replied. In response, the sergeant leaned down, grabbed something, and slid it over to me.

"You're learning today," he said, sliding a pair of power packs after the rifle. I picked it up; the rifle didn't weigh much more than the M4 I was accustomed to shooting, in fact, when I shouldered it, the weapon felt almost familiar. Sighting the Orks in, he steadied my breathing and leaned against my cover, bracing the rifle on it. "There ya go lad, that's how you do it."

"Sarge, should we really-" The third Guardsman started, his voice a low hiss.

"You see a better alternative?" Sarge interrupted, silencing the argument.

"Orders, Sarge?" The fifth man, another private, asked his voice shaky.

"Hold fire, let them pass; if they spot us, fight like hell." Sarge answered. The Guardsmen gripped their rifles and waited, tracking the band of Orks as they lumbered through the street, careful not to make any sudden movements. Our eyes were glued to the gang, the barrels of our lasguns slowly following them…and then something clattered off to our left.

To our front and right was the intersection and the street, to our left was the rest of the building, which might've been a lobby or a storefront once upon a time. Now, through the rubble, came a squig, followed by a gretchin, armed with a crude pistol; our potential death if either made so much as a squeak to warn the Orks. In between them and us were a few piles of debris, a counter that blocked their line of sight, and maybe twenty seconds before we were seen.

Sarge motioned, and the third and fifth Guardsmen drew their bayonets, laying their rifles down so they could move uninhibited. They duck-walked close to the pair, staying as low and as quiet as possible. The squig moved briefly in front of the gretchin, bending down to sniff something, causing the gretchin, who wasn't paying attention, to bump into the squig. Irritated, the gretchin kicked the squig, who whirled and let a low snarl, the two facing each other. The Guardsmen struck, lunging from cover, covering the mouths of both, and drove their bayonets into their skulls. They struggled for a brief moment before falling limp, the threat briefly averted, and the Guardsmen began to withdraw.

A second Gretchin wandered into view, its eyes widening at the scene, and opened its mouth. Sarge rose, drew his bayonet, and threw it in one clean motion, hitting the gretchin dead in between the eyes, just as it started to scream. It fell to the ground dead, the gang in the streets turning to search for the source of the sound, the Nob talking a step forward, weapon raised.

"Hold your fi-" Sarge began to hiss, interrupted by a loud bark. The Nob's head exploded from right to left, and series of what sounded like rapid explosions erupted from further down the street, blowing clean through the Orks. "Open fire!" Sarge roared over the cacophony.

I leveled the lasgun at the nearest Ork and pulled the trigger, an angry red streak flew from the barrel and hit the Ork in the bicep. The shot tore chunk off the Ork's bicep, forcing a roar of pain from its mouth before it was blown clean off. I shifted, looking for another target and found none. The Ork gang was little more than steaming heaps of flesh and bone, holes blown clean through their bodies.

"What the hell was that?" The second Guardsman said aloud.

"Quiet!" Hissed Sarge, waving everyone down.

"Guardsmen" an amplified voice called, "the area is secure, you may emerge."

"Mal, take a peek for me," Sarge said. The fifth man, Mal, scampered to the corner wall and poked his head into the street. When he turned back, his eyes were widen and he was grinning widely.

"Marines, Sarge, Astartes!" He cried, then ducked into the street. The Guardsmen left cover and I followed, suddenly very aware of the fact that I was in a pair of Nike shoes, jeans, a t-shirt, and a black hoodie. That self-awareness was abandoned as I stepped into the street, looked to my right, and saw them; Space Marines. Five black armored Marines approached us, four with Bolters, and one with a sniper rifle. Aside from their armaments and minor decorations, the only thing different between them were their right shoulder pauldrons, each with a different symbol on them.

"Deathwatch," I whispered, the realization hitting me as I recognized the symbols of the Raven Guard and the Salamanders. *DEATHWATCH: A section of Space Marines comprised of members of various Chapters. Said Marines fall under the banner of the Ordo Xenos of the Inquisition, and actively engage Xenos forces in teams of four to nine.*

"Sergeant, why do you and your men remain in this section of the hive?" Asked one of the Marines, the image of a red eagle on a white background on his shoulder.

"Milord, we've been cut off for the past week with no communications; I heard no word of an evacuation order," Sarge replied, shouldering his rifle and standing attention.

"At ease," the Marine said, and Sarge relaxed, "what is your regiment?"

"First Battalion, 15th Freeport Grenadiers, milord," Sarge answered.

"Your regiment has not yet departed, Sergeant; you may be able to make it to the evacuation point in time."

"My lord," the female corporal said, taking a step towards the Marines, "are we evacuating the planet?"

"You are evacuating the sub-sector, Corporal," the Raven Guard said, "most of the Octarius Sector is as well." Silence fell over the street, distant gunfire and explosions echoing in the background.

"Laurent," the Salamander said, speaking to the Marine with the white eagle head, "requesting permission to divert from our objective."

"To what end, Tectus?" Laurent replied.

"Sergeant, these Guardsmen have ten kilometers to travel before they reach friendly lines, much of which is prowled by Greenskins. Let me ensure they return safely."

"Six Guardsmen and a civilian are hardly worth such a diversion," The Raven Guard noted, "however, it would be crude to send them away in a vain attempt at survival." Laurent contemplated the choice for a moment before nodding.

"Action approved; assist the Guardsmen, then rendezvous with us at rally point Rho."

"It will be done, Sergeant," Tectus said,

"Tectus," a fourth Marine said, the image of a black gauntlet on a light gray background on his right shoulder, hefting a chainsword and tossing it, "for when you inevitably run out of ammunition."

"Prudent, but I'm wounded by your lack of faith, Brandt." Tectus said, catching the chainsword and hooking it to his belt.

"So how do you only have two reserve magazines, when you packed a double ammunition load?"

"May your aim be as sharp as your words, Brother Brandt, Emperor knows it could use the work," Tectus said as he turned to us. I grinned, a noticed action by both the Guardsmen and Tectus.

"Watch your face," the third man hissed in alarm.

"Nay, it is of no concern to me. At least this man remains in good humor," Tectus said. "I am Brother Tectus of the Salamanders Chapter, assigned to the Deathwatch."

"Sergeant Anthony Kellogg, milord," Sarge introduced.

"Corporal Wallace Shay, sir," introduced the second man.

"Corporal Xavier Millet, my lord," the third man said.

"Private Henry Douglas, sir" said the fourth man.

"Private Malcom Bennet, sir." The fifth said.

"Corporal Julia Andrews, milord." Said the female corporal. Tectus's eyes turned to me.

"And you?" He asked. I blinked and paused for a moment before answering.

"Ald…Ald Russman, sir," I said, "at least that's what I remember."

"We found him not fifteen minutes ago, milord," Sarge said, "wandering the streets with nary a clue as to where he was.

"He seems to have acclimated to his situation," Tectus commented, gesturing to the lasgun in my hands.

"Didn't have much of a choice, sir," I answered, shrugging. Tectus nodded, in acknowledgement or approval I had no clue.

"As I said before, we have ten kilometers of battlefield to cross before we reach safety in the Industrial Port; I will lead the way, you will remain behind me. Stick to the sides of the streets, and when the Greenskins come, allow me to draw their fire before you engage. Clear?"

"Crystal clear, sir," Sarge answered.

"Good, follow," Tectus marched forward, moving through us to the intersection beyond.

"Sarge," I asked, the sergeant turning to me, "where do you want me?"

"Right next to me, lad, where I can keep an eye on you," Sarge said. I nodded, hefted the lasgun, and followed. We spread to the sides of the streets, following Brother Tectus as he led us to the evac point.

Author's Entry 1B

*So, brief description of the Octarius War; a Inquisitor by the name of Kryptman decided to throw two of the deadliest races in the galaxy at each other in a little chunk of space called the Octarius Sector. Said races were the Orks, who you just met, and the Tyranids; an insectoid, hive-minded race of beings who seek to consume the galaxy and adapt after every battle. And Mr. Kryptman had the brilliant idea to pit the battle-hungry Orks against the bio-mass consuming 'Nids, and hope that they would fight each other to death…yeah that wasn't gonna happen. That was where I found myself, on the planet Freeport, right smack in the middle of the Ork WAAGH! That was looking for turf and loot. And now, back to how I got away!

Just as media doesn't prepare you for Orks, it doesn't prepare you for how graceful a Space Marine moves in power armor; seeming to glide over the shattered permacrete in spite of the weight of the armor. Tectus held his bolter at high-ready, scanning every aspect of the environment as he moved. Twice during the first four kilometers he stopped us and blew the head off a Gretchin sniper in the distance, his sharp eyes picking up the slight motions of the Greenskins. It felt, frankly, like we were just along for the ride, right up until the sixth kilometer. Then it got complicated.

My feet were sore from the march, the shoes I wore not helping as I walked over rubble and broken road. My arms were, blessedly, used to carrying a six pound rifle over difficult terrain, so they and my shoulders were free from the same soreness as my feet. Tectus set a hard pace, leaving me and the Guardsmen soaked in sweat, the liquid running in rivers down our bodies and faces. The noise of distant gunfire growing closer kept us from slowing down or falling out, and Tectus made no offer to ease his pace.

As we neared another intersection, the Salamander held up a hand to halt us, eyes glued to the right side of the road. We pressed ourselves to the sides of the street, hunkering behind whatever cover we could find, raising our rifles to aim past the Marine. Tectus raised his bolter and moved slowly to the left side of the street, bracing his weapon against the remains of a fallen wall. As we knelt, we heard the low rumblings of an engine growing steadily louder and louder, coupled with the increasing volume of human voices and gunfire.

A Chimera, an Imperial Guard armored personal carrier (APC), burst through the intersection, its main guns firing behind it. The driver whipped it around, turning the vehicle so the front faced the side of the intersection opposite us and backed towards us, allowing only the main gun and the front of the APC to be in the street. From the street, Guardsmen and civilians followed, most of the Guardsmen firing behind them, kneeling in cover, or ushering the refugees forward.

"Sergeant Kellogg," Tectus called, turning to us, "this is where we part ways; may the Emperor's light shine upon you all!" Tectus turned on his heel and sprinted forward, bolter raised. A Guardsman heard the noise of the approaching Marine and spun, nearly firing on the Salamander as he thundered forward. Tectus halted, his armored feet sliding across the broken permacrete, bolter raised and firing as he slid around the corner.

"Come on, move!" Sarge called, and suddenly I was running after Sarge, my legs moving of their own volition. We crossed into the street as more Guardsmen moved across the intersection, falling back in some semblance of an organized retreat.

"Oi, what unit is this?" Mal called to a retreating Guardsmen.

"Third Battalion, 15th Freeport!" The man replied.

"We're First! Heading to the evac?"

"Where bloody else, come on!" I turned to look down the intersection and saw the horde of Orks rushing after us; Brother Tectus standing in the way, firing his bolter. I turned back, following the squad of Guardsmen that had rescued me, running towards supposed salvation. It would not be the last time I would run in the face of the enemy, nor the last time I would see Brother Tectus, but it would be the first time in a long time I would be fighting for my survival.

Unintentionally, we joined the retrograde *(Retrograde: a defensive task that involves organized movement away from the enemy, aka an organized or fighting retreat)*, fighting alongside the 3rd Battalion as they pulled back. I did my best to glue myself to Sergeant Kellogg, moving when he moved, shooting when he shot, and taking cover when he did. More often than not, I seemed to tumble over myself in my haste and I felt more like a hindrance than a help.

"Come on lad, keep moving, don't worry about shooting!" Corporal Shay called to me.

"He's fine, you keep moving!" Sarge barked, "You're doing good lad, slow down when you fire." The Chimera came alongside us, the driver skillfully reversing down the broken street keeping its armored front and main gun pointed toward the Orks. Bullets pinged and ricocheted off the APC's armor, the twin-linked bolters responding in kind, blasting shells back at the offending Orks. Sarge moved again and I followed, sticking close as a rocket soared over our heads, missing the Chimera by a mile.

"Incoming!" A Guardsman cried up the road. Looking up I saw a shadow swoop down from the horizon; an Imperial Marauder bomber on a perilously low approach over the street. A hand grabbed me and ripped me to the side; Sarge covering me as the Marauder swept low and unleashed its payload, what felt like thunder shaking the street. Sarge yanked me to me feet and pushed me forward, allowing me a brief glimpse of what was left of the Ork charge. A few remained, those who were smart enough to take cover, the rest were paste, chunks, and mounds of flesh and bone, the street a series of smoking craters.

"Keep moving, we're almost there!" Sarge called. Sweat ran in rivers all over me, my body protested with every movement, but I kept running, the rifle feeling like a sack of bricks in my hands. What kept me going was fear and hope; fear of the Orks, and hope for escape. The further we ran, the more defensive positions we saw manned. More Guardsmen knelt behind improvised cover, heavy bolters and stubbers peering out from behind rubble and sandbags. We were almost there.

A roar came from overhead, followed by a wave of heat. Looking up, I saw the oncoming boots and rocket pack of an Ork Stormboy hurtling toward me.

"Sarge!" I cried, grabbing him and throwing us both to the side. The Stormboy landed with a war cry, oblivious to the two of us, and opened fire with a machine pistol. Sarge rose beside me, shouldered his rifle, and emptied his power pack into the Ork. The rounds tore a hole clean through the Ork from hip to shoulder. As it fell, more Stormboyz landed in the street and the rubble, firing their weapons or slicing with choppas. I shouldered my rifle and fired a hasty burst at one looming over a fallen Guardsman, clipping its rocket pack near the base. The shot seemed to kick start the pack, causing the Ork to launch into the sky screaming, roaring its fury as it sped away from its prey.

"Run!" Sarge cried, shoving me forward. We ran, the other five members of the squad following quickly after us. Mal had taken a grazing shot to the arm and was clutching the wound as he ran. Ahead of us, a pair of Guardsmen remounted a fallen stubber and racked the charging handle. As we ran past, the gunner let lose, the burst ripping through the street behind us. All I heard were a pair of pained roars and the ignition of another rocket. I didn't look back, just bent forward and let the weight of my body and rifle carry me forward. A sudden explosion caused me to look back; the Chimera had burst into flames, the crew screaming as they were coated in burning promethium. I ripped my eyes forward and kept going, the running battle roaring around me.

As we rounded a bend in the road, we saw our goal; the Industrial Port. In the distance, it appeared to be the remains of a once bustling space port, now heavily defended by what remained of the Guard regiments in the hive. The exhaustion we all felt by that point seemed to evaporate, and our pace doubled as we sprinted for the checkpoint. Guardsmen manned defensive positions and a pair of Leman Russ battle tanks watched the road. We neared the checkpoint, a lieutenant initially holding a hand to wave us off before he saw Sarge.

"Sergeant Kellogg?" He asked in surprise. Any answer Sarge could give was halted by the sound of Orks. I turned to see an Ork Leman Russ bulldoze through nearby rubble, Gretchin gunners spraying wildly with stubbers at anything that moved. "Inside, now!" The lieutenant waved us in, the tanks opened fire on the Ork vehicle, and sent a tower of fire and metal into the sky. We moved inside to find a throng of civilians and retreating Guardsmen alike; all waiting to get off world. Sarge waved us over to a cluster of crates and barrels, and we collapsed onto them gratefully. My clothes stuck to me like glue, sweat constantly poured from my skin, and I was covered in dust and debris, but I was alive, somehow.

"Well lads, we made it," Sarge panted out, "some-bloody-how."

"Can we never do that again, Sarge, please?" Mal asked.

"You know I can't promise that, Mal; Emperor only knows where they send us," Sarge answered. "Let's get off world before we worry about who sends us where."

"Most likely to another war, Sergeant, they do seem to enjoy that" a woman said. I turned to look at her; an older woman in her late forties with brown, graying hair with green eyes, she wore the uniform of a major and the sword of a noble.

"Ma'am," Sarge said, making an attempt at getting to his feet, interrupted by a gesture from the major. "Glad to see you made it as well."

"Likewise, Anthony, how'd you get on?"

"Platoon got hit by Stormboyz and we got separated; we fended for ourselves for a week before we made it here. Wouldn't have made it had it not been for an Astartes." Sarge answered.

"Astartes, here?" The major said in surprise, "What on earth are they doing?"

"No idea ma'am, one of them diverted to get us here before he was engaged by the Orks," Sarge replied. "We did find ourselves a lost pup as well."

"Indeed, I was wondering who this young fellow was," the major turned to look at me.

"Ald Russman, ma'am," I said, nodding to her.

"Seems to have lost his memory ma'am," Private Douglas said, "we found him running from the Orks, same as us."

"It's been an interesting day, ma'am," I said, shrugging.

"This is an above average day for those of our profession," the major said, extending a hand, "Major Elaine van Königlich, commander of the 15th Freeport."

"You command now, ma'am?" Sarge asked as I shook her hand.

"Yes, Colonel Magthorpe has been, well, removed from the chain of command by Commissar Troy."

"Good riddance," Shay said.

"I would not speak ill of the dead, Corporal," hissed a deep voice. A broad shouldered man slithered from behind the stacks of crates, looming over Corporal Shay, "you may join the good colonel if I find your service to the Imperium lacking."

"Mr. Russman, meet my loyal…morale officer, Commissar Troy Stanberry," Major Elaine introduced. Commissar Troy towered head and shoulders over everyone, with dark hair and eyes to add to a frightening visage.

"Sergeant Kellogg, I trust you've been taking good care of my Guardsmen?" Troy asked.

"Always, Commissar, and they take good care of me," Sarge answered. "This young man did as well; held his own running with us."

"Did he now?" Troy's head twisted to look at me, and I wished it didn't; those dark eyes seemed to pierce into my soul. "Russman, is it?"

"Yes sir," I answered, my eyes not leaving his.

"Fancy yourself a Guardsman, Russman?"

"Enough," Major Elaine cut in, "go to the rest of the regiment and prepare them for departure."

"Aye ma'am, right away," Troy spun on his heel and left without another word.

"As for the rest of you, make ready for departure. Mr. Russman, I advise you find yourself transport off world," Major Elaine said, "we won't have room for civilians with us." I nodded as the major left, wondering how the hell I was going to get out of this mess.

"So…thanks for the rescue," I said to the six Guardsmen, leaning my lasgun against a nearby barrel and standing. Sarge cast a glance to the other five, who all reacted to it.

"He handled himself well enough," Julia commented.

"Kept tumbling over himself like a newborn," Shay disagreed.

"Didn't we all at one point?" Henry countered.

"He kept up with us too; can't say that about every civilian we came across," Xavier said.

"I like him; we can keep him," Mal said. I glanced around, confused for a moment before it dawned on me what they were talking about, Sarge's eyes finding mine.

"Well lad, you kept up with us decent enough, and you've got a good head on your shoulders; what do you say about joining the Guard?"

"Not like you've got anywhere else to go at this point with your head being what it is," Mal said. I looked at Mal for a second; he felt like the newest addition to his squad, and, frankly, he wanted someone else to be the new guy. I thought for a second before shrugging.

"Do you think you can get me in?" I asked.

"Lad, I know I can get you in; if it's anything the Guard teaches you to do, it's to fudge paperwork," Sarge said. *If it's one thing that doesn't change from universe to universe, it's the ability of the soldier to falsify paperwork.* I laughed.

"Alright…I don't see why not."

*Within a few hours, my fate was sealed. As of writing this initial entry, it has been six years since that day; waking up in the rubble and running and gunning with Guardsmen and Marines. For those of you who say this is "outlandish" and "hard to believe", welcome to 40K. Enjoy the ride.*