Chapter I: Apex Squad

As I look around the room my perception of where i am slowly returns. I am in stormtrooper living quarters aboard the CLAUDIA, a naval ship used for transporting the 51st Steel Legion. I hear Julian "Spike" Slateman chuckle as I groggily put on my off duty, recreational uniform. The dark gray shirt, pants, and boots feel clean and form fitting to my thick exterior. The name Normand in white text is printed across my back. The chamber is irritatingly small, which is seen as better by our superiors. We stormtroopers are the 51st Steel Legion's finest after all. All other legionaires that aren't officers or stormtroopers sleep in enormous rooms stretching for kilometers. Personally I prefer them over all the compactness of our privileged quarters.

Looking in the mirror I notice my forehead is pink from hammering it into the bottom of my friends bunk. My skin is tanner than it was in the dream and my black hair is shorter. My hazel eyes give a hard look as I am reminded of all my service in Apex Squad by the scars on my cheek and chin. I fought as a soldier all my life, but not to do a service for the Emperor. No, I purge xenos and burn heretics to save lives. One death of an enemy is a million spared for mankind.

"Damn Zander you were struggling so much I thought you were wrestling a live grenade," cracks Spike interrupting my train of thought with his big, brown grin. He was just happy he was awake to watch my discomfort with those mischievous brown eyes. Spike was always a dark humor kind of guy even at the academy all those years ago. Probably the only reason we were friends was that I was the one person who'd talk and hadn't died yet. I called it skill, but Spike called it luck and that someday, mine would rub off on him. Spike scratches his ear where his black hair ends while waiting for the others and I to finish our warm up exercises. He'd waken up early so he had time to let off a couple jokes before we all ran off on some errands.

"I wouldn't talk about greenskins Spike, the briefing I hear is about fighting those mothers on some farm planet," says Sergeant Victor Clye as he stands up slowly. His constant vigilance, Spike calls paranoia, has saved Clye's life and ours hundreds of times. This combined with a by-the-book attitude make him a favorite under every officer we've served under. His multiple scars trailing on his pale, bald head and across his blue eyes are his badges of honor. To the Sarge it's better to be scarred and alive than handsome and dead.

"Before I have to hear Spike make another idiotic comment, I'd like to see the new armory unit they just installed last week, Normand would you like to join me?" asks Diana Trotskav her emotionless, dark eyes directed at me. I don't know much about Trotskav other than how she got here. During a campaign a Vostroyan Regiment caused mass casualties due to friendly fire. Bound by integrity, the high ranks donated the 51st Steel Legion ten of its premium warriors. One of these gifts was the woman with sanguine hair standing before me. Trotskav was assigned to our squad a year ago and usually never speaks unless spoken to. Hearing her speak first now was a rare occasion.

"Will do, I've been waiting for the chance to make Pepper II for a long time," I reply with mild satisfaction at the prospect of constructing my own autogun from scratch.

"Forget that, lets ditch Miss First Blood to clean her barrel," blurts Spike sticking his thumb in Diana's direction. "and go to the cafeteria for some grub."

"No thanks Spike, that stuff I saw in my dream ruined my appetite," I reply as I piece it back together in my mind, while witnessing Trotskav's slightly annoyed face. That damn dream felt so real and I remember everything. I've seen a lot worse in my length of service yet something about it chills me to the bone. The man with the wrench had to be a cultist, but the only heretics I fought were dressed in carapace. Where in the Emperor's name do these hallucinations come from?

"You're sticking me with Sarge?" Spike asks with obvious annoyance. "talking to him is like talking to a rock that bitches on occasion."

"Spike, if you don't shut your mouth I'll stuff a frag in it next time we're deployed," threatens Clye.

"I give you the Stone of Bitching," remarks Spike making the the Sarge punch him in the shoulder. As we are about to part ways in a metallic colored corridor of the stormtrooper garrison Sergeant Clye gives us one last order.

"Normand, Slateman, I want you two to be on your finest behavior," Clye demands. "because an Inquisitor and his posse is hitching a ride and just might run into you."

As I walk in front of Trotskav she, rather than staring ahead, directs her gaze at me. I can almost feel the amount of focus burning into the back of my head. I stop and turn around to ask Trotskav what's wrong.

"This one has affected you much more than the others," she states as a it was a fact. "I noticed you've been trembling since you awoke."

"I…don't want t talk about it," I breath out.

"…I don't want you having another hallucination on the battlefield," says a Trotskav with a hint of seriousness in her controlled tone. She must be referring to the time I thought I saw an Eldar were a two man team once on a mission and I was her spotter. Trostkav is deathly afraid of Eldar. She tried to use me as a meat shield after I mentioned catching a glimpse of one. Why she fears them is beyond me, I just hope I'm not stuck with Trotskav if an Eldar mission pops up.

"I won't see something that isn't there, so relax," I answer, knowing she will still factor in my possible insanity on our next assignment.