So basically, here's how it was.
This guy, William Markus, right? Bit of a daft name, but no one's perfect. He was just hanging out in one of the hangar bays, Raenka flask in hand, minding his own business as usual. Sure, he was supposed to be guarding something or patrolling someplace or what have you, but he doubted his own superior officer even realized he was gone. And if he did, Markus doubted he'd care.
Unfortunately, there was one busybody around that did. And that busybody was the man currently shouting at him, as it seemed like he always was. The shouting man's name was Captain Leon Sideris. What a prick.
"-And to top it all off, I find you sitting around some random hangar bay, alcohol on your breath, wearing half your uniform!" Leon said, in what was, for him, a calm and level tone. Plucking the flask out of his grip and giving it a derisive look before tossing it to the side, he continued his tirade. "How many times have I stumbled upon you like this, Markus? If I was your commanding officer, I could have you court-martialed by now!"
"Aw shucks, Leon, I didn't know you cared," replied Markus, a goofy grin on his face. "I love you too, man." This was a lie, of course. William Markus knew damn well that the good captain cared far, far too much, about just about everything. Otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered to find him here.
...In fact, how did he find him here? This wasn't exactly one of his most common hidey holes, and he certainly doesn't lack for them. Did Leon make a list of every place he's found Markus squirreled away, and go through it one by one until he found him? Or did he go around stopping random passersby asking if they'd seen him like he was looking for his lost servo-skull? Either way, far too much effort on his part to track down a single slacker, one that he wasn't even in charge of, and yet this was entirely par for the course when it came to Leon Sideris.
Leon stared back at the man, a baleful look in his eyes. "Someone has to care around here," he said, contemptuously, a hint of self-righteous pride entering his voice, "and it certainly isn't going to be you."
No, this was just how Leon was. Ever since he'd first been transferred to the 39th, Leon had taken it upon himself to be everyone's nanny, nagging and browbeating them into something vaguely resembling discipline. Even his fellow captains weren't safe, and many of them simply complied with his demands just because it wasn't worth the headache to ignore him and have to deal with his nagging. Markus got the feeling he knew exactly why he had been transferred here, despite his genuine competence and intelligence.
"What? Leo, buddy, pal... you think I'm not responsible and meticulous in every action that I do?" Markus said, his hand on his heart and his mouth agape in outrage. "All these years we've known each other, and you stab me in the heart with these vicious accusations! Why, I am just shocked and appalled that you would think so little of me!" With a dramatic flair, he took a flask out of an inside pocket he had sewn into his coat and took a swig to drown his sorrows.
"Not as appalled as I am that you'd think I'd fall for that wounded dignity act, after all these years," Leon flatly responded, as he plucked the flask out of the man's grip and tossed it to the side. "Both of us are well aware you don't have any to injure. And you are never to call me 'Leo' ever again."
Markus grinned at the scathing response his faux outrage had gotten him. "You're breaking my heart, man, I thought we had something special. I guess you don't love me after all," he replied, shaking his head in mock heartbreak. "And I don't know what you're getting so worked up about with that little moniker," he continued, pulling yet another flask out of his coat and preparing to take a swig, "It's your name, isn't it? or near enough, anyways."
"Would you stop that!" Leon shouted as he ripped the flask out of his hands once more. With a contemptuous flick of his wrist, he tossed the flask over his shoulder. Behind him, a Tech-Priest recoiled as the flask was flung directly into a recycling furnace access port as it was closing, the furnace letting out a muffled bang as the superheated alcohol burst explosively out of the rapidly warping container. "Bad enough you debase your body with that filth," He continued, a peevish glare overtaking his face, "I will not have you debasing my name by translating it to that vulgar language."
Markus stared back at Leon and slowly, with a graceful and elegant movement, reached into his coat and pulled out yet another flask, and took a long and drawn-out swig, never once breaking eye contact. Leon let out a long-suffering sigh as he pinched his nose in aggravation. "Why do I even bother with you, Markus?" Leon muttered in an exasperated tone as he turned away from the other man.
Leon quickly composed himself, however. It was a question born out of frustration rather than genuine curiosity. He knew damn well why he bothered; with Markus, with himself with this whole misbegotten crew. The reason he was put here, whether by fate or gods or happenstance. He knew as well as anyone here what a dead end this place was, how being reassigned here was one step above being the victim of a sudden and mysterious attack by Ork Snipers. But while others, like the pathetic waste of space behind him, might use this as an excuse to slack off or fall into despair, this only hardened Leon's resolve.
From the very start, he never hesitated to rail against incompetence and sloth wherever he beheld it. It had made him few friends and many enemies, but a single look at the caliber of enemies he had made - the dissolute, the lazy, those who poison their own bodies - gave him all the determination he needed. The fact that he was sent here at all certainly implied that someone in power was greatly afeared of him. And they thought they were punishing him by sending him here, did they? This was no prison, it was a target-rich environment.
It would be a herculean task, but bit by bit, he would achieve the impossible, and force discipline down the throats of those around him, and remake this miserable battalion in his own image. The 39th will be awash in glory as a shining example to the rest, and his name would be remembered forever as the man who made all of it possible. Those that disregarded him before would be made ashamed, and-
Leon turned back to where Markus had been slouching a moment before, quickly realizing that Markus had once again slipped away while Leon was distracted and lost in thought. Bloody typical. Ah well. There will be more opportunities to discipline him later, he had no doubt. That man was incorrigible, and that's exactly why Leon was so determined to pursue him. If he were to ever succeed in changing him for the better, then that would be proof to the rest, and to any lingering self-doubt, that nothing is impossible. At that point, the total success of his mission would seem almost inevitable.
With a sharp about-face, he turned and strode off smartly through the sea of bodies. "Oy, you there!" he shouted suddenly pointing at a passerby, "what do you call that sorry excuse for a-"
The Astartes he had accosted stared at Leon for a long moment as he launched into a tirade about the superhuman's misconduct, before evidently deciding eviscerating him wouldn't be worth the earful the Warsmith would give him about it and walking off, muttering a prayer of "Dark gods, deliver me from this arsewipe," as Leon's voice faded behind him.
Yes, Leon was more than aware of what a herculean and impossible task he had set for himself. And that was just how he liked it. For how sweeter will the victory be, when he achieves it anyway? And if he were to fail, to go to his grave having never accomplished it, he will still have spent his life well striving for it, the struggle itself enough to fill his heart.
Climbing ever upward toward the impossible, Leon Sideris was content.
William Markus was closer than Leon might think, having clambered up some nearby handholds he had installed into the wall a while back, up to where a crappily measured hull replacement created a small balcony-like protrusion overlooking the hangar bay. It was a great place to go when he very definitely did not want to be found, as no one would suspect him going through all the trouble hoisting himself up all that way along a precarious path just to get some peace and quiet. Granted, many would find that an adequate price to pay to avoid Leon's incessant whining, but few would suspect such a renowned sloth of a man as Markus going through all that effort.
Markus had heard of the concept of delayed gratification; that sometimes little effort now can save you much more later. For the most part, he had found it to just be manipulation: a way of tricking a man into wasting his time for some imagined reward that will always be just out of reach; on occasion, however, it rang true. Besides, it was a good place to stash his booze.
Markus rummaged through his stash, to replace the stuff that Leon had so rudely seized from him. A shame, that. That was one of his better batches of late; the Ploins he had gotten were a little underripe, but it had taken to the rectification process surprisingly well. Still, that was hardly his favorite of the brews; the Gyromitra Esculenta that he had been cultivating made for a damn fine sherry, although he had to keep that squirreled away up here to avoid any risks of people discovering it on his person and accusing him of trying to poison some of the lightweights around here.
Markus took a long swig of the liquor he took to calling "Gyromitrin Sherry", savoring the toxic feeling it put in his gut as he gazed out at the sea of people rushing around below. Countless people swarmed the hangar bay; workers and slaves ran to and fro on their menial tasks; Techpriests and their servants buzzed around the dilapidated machines; soldiers and Astartes made ready to be shipped off in the myriad of shuttlecraft for some mission or other. From his vantage point, it looked as though it were a glimmering and multicolored swarm of ants, spiraling endlessly around.
Ants... you know, in an ant hive, every single creature there spends their every moment from the day they are born in service of the hive. A hundred thousand creatures working in some kinda harmony, each one pulling its own weight a bunch of times over. Even the queen isn't nothing but another servant, spending her days devouring the food gathered for her to constantly birth more workers to support the colony. All of them giving their lives so that the hive may survive, and continue to grow.
Ants are fucking stupid.
Markus gazed down at the hordes below him. Here and there, he was able to pick out shapes he recognized. A couple of techpriests he could see doing the bare minimum of repairs on some of the shuttlecraft, no doubt siphoning materials away for some pet project of theirs; a few scattered men in uniforms hanging around trying to look busy, even though he knows for a fact they work on the opposite side of the ship; even the Astartes somehow managed to look tired and apathetic through their helmets. Even for them, this is just another day on the job; a miserable, dead-end job, working for people they hardly respect for a cause they hardly believe in.
No, not very much like ants at all. It was a sea of laxity and negligence that he saw, held together by the few people that genuinely cared for the glory of the 39th, and by the barest sense of duty born of self-preservation of the rest. A mess of people pursuing their own goals independent of the whole, from the grandest sorcerer and general pursuing their own glory, to the simplest of soldiers looking for whatever leisure they can grab hold of.
William Markus wouldn't have it any other way.