Terminology for people unfamiliar with Warhammer 40k:
The Emperor: the singular ruler and God of humanity
The Imperium: A galaxy-spanning empire of humanity. Includes over a million worlds
Chaos/The Warp: The "Archenemy" of mankind. Induces mutation and insanity to its followers. Has a pantheon of four gods.
Assassniorum: A shadowy organization of assassins that operate directly at the command of the High Lords of Terra (who in turn serve the Emperor). Has multiple different "Temples" of assassins
Vindicare Temple: An order of assassins focused on marksmanship and enduring patience
Note: you do not need to know anything about Warhammer 40k besides what I just told you above. Everything else that will be related to the 40k universe will be explained naturally through this fanfic and the perspective of our tone-death sniper.
"The heretics are in my sights." spoke the cool, calm voice of the Vindicare assassin; his Exitus rifle leveled on the steel gantry of the desecrated cathedral of the Emperor.
A vox chimed into his ear, "Do not fire assassin. The main target is still approaching."
V-597-IN briefly considered being offended at the idea of Vindicare ever firing before their mark revealed themself, but the thought left as soon as it came. He was the bullet that awaits the heretic's skull, the blade poised at their throat. He was not made to feel, only to kill in the Emperor's name. Instead, he scanned the heretical coven of worship from his vantage point. His transhuman mind calculated all entries and exit routes, all potential angles of fire and all positions of the 57 chaos cultists. The conclusion of his calculus: absolute victory.
"Unidentified hostile entering through the rear entrance." V-597-IN stated into his helmet, watching as the masked figure strode towards the center of the heretics.
"Understood, wait for visual confirmation on their face."
He knew immediately it was his target. Even through his tattered robes and masked visage, his build and gait perfectly matched with the assassin's eidetic memory of his mission briefing. But he held his fire. Orders were orders after all.
The robed figure walked towards the pulpit of the vaulted place of worship, sycophants and madmen pouring around him like poisoned sewage. His route was lined with the debased or overturned statues of the Emperor and his saints, and the mad scribbles of the 8-pointed star of Chaos. Eventually the figure came to the middle of the room and turned back to look at his following, as a Ecclesiarch of the Emperor might usher his flock. V-597-IN's thoughts boiled with disgust despite his emotional suppressants, already imagining how his head would look after the adamantine bullet from his turbo-penetrator magazine perforated his skull.
Finally the man spoke, his voice barely louder than a whisper, but cracking like a whip across the silence, "Faithful… enlightened… ambitious brethren. We gather here today under the sight of the Emperor."
That earned him a rousing applause of shouts and jeers. V-597-IN's caressed the trigger of his rifle softly.
"But a corpse cannot see, and a dead God cannot answer us!" the man continued, his voice rising as his fervor built, "The Imperium rots. Shackled to a corpse on a gilded throne. This cycle of meaningless carnage, of purposeless slaughter, IT IS INSANITY! ALL PERPETRATED BY A FALSE GOD!"
Utterly bored, the assassin tuned out the bland sermons of heretical apostle. He briefly reflected on the irony of a Chaos cultist calling anything insane, but the thought occupied less than a few milliseconds of time, leaving him to endure the assault on his auditory senses for several more minutes.
"Permission to open fire." the assassin asked into his vox.
"Negative, visual identity must be confirmed." the voice snapped back at him.
Suddenly, the voice of the figure changed from the ramblings of a madman to something far more sinister. Words that whispered and roared eldritch terrors into the mind of anyone who heard them. The familiar chill that always accompanied Warp magic ran up his spine, and he nearly shifted his form out of discomfort, nearly.
"Target is engaging in Warp sorcery, I recommend-"
"You do not recommend assassin, you obey! Now hold position."
Eight cultists from the crowd stepped forward, their bodies covered in heretical marks that stung to stare at. With synchronicity beyond mortal means, they simultaneously drew daggers from beneath the folds of their robes, and cut their hands in a flash of scarlet crimson. The blood pooled upwards into a ring and boiled away into crackling lighting and billowing mist. Like a wound in reality the cyclone bore down on them with its baleful glare. In response, the Vindicare adjusted the volume of epinephrine and adrenorush in his bloodstream to 3000cc, letting the combat drugs fully circulate his system.
"They've start-
"I've given you your order assassin, now obey and shut up."
A chill, though one born of suspicion rather than magic, ran down his spine. It wasn't the command itself, but the last comment that left him with as close a feeling to dread as he could approximate. It was standard operating procedure (SOP) for an assassin to constantly update their handler with mission relevant data. Why wasn't this officer following protocol? V-597-IN was attached to an Imperial Guard regiment, so perhaps the Guard commander wasn't read up on Assassinorum SOP. Or maybe…
The assassin suddenly droned, "Exitus acta probat."
"What," the voice questioned, "Assassin repeat-"
V-597-IN cut off the vox-link immediately. They were compromised. It didn't matter how, but the enemy had somehow burrowed its way into imperial high command. But their deceit would go unrewarded.
"Oh death… where is thine sting." whispered the assassin, and fired.
The turbo penetrator round ripped out of Exitus rifle, the 700 gram bullet yearning to send its target to oblivion. Screaming at speeds close to mach 5, the chunk of adamantium traveled the cavernous hall in an instant, and collided violently with the heretic's skull… only to disappear in a blinding flash of light. His helmet's autosensors were already filtering the level of light to be tolerable, but his target remained shrouded by the glowing corona of white. The light faded and his target stood unharmed and shocked beyond belief.
The Vindicare frowned, and fired five more times, each trigger pull a work of art and a testament to the mastery of his craft. Yet each bullet was met with the same fate, each disappearing in a blinding flash of light. By now the heretic had drawn together enough of his senses to string together some words.
"S-Shit! Someone get that fucking sniper!" he sputtered.
The mass of heretics turned to face his vantage point in the rafter, but he did not shirk from his duty. He fired again, and was finally rewarded as the sight of deep crimson bloomed from five cultists, his bullet having passed through all of them in one fell shot.
"By the Gods, he-"
Another shot, another blasphemer granted the Emperor's mercy.
"He's up there, someone-"
An explosion rocked out behind him, the pre-placed claymore having accomplished its job admirably.
"Flee, save your-"
That one was silenced by the masked man, who had drawn an inconspicuous laspistol and was trying to rally his flock.
"Stand strong ye faithful!" he cried. "The Anointed One watches down on us!"
The Vindicare casually observed there weren't too many left standing. Of the original 57, less than half stood after only a minute. For an assassin who believed in the sanctity of a clean kill, this mission was the definition of a disaster. Regardless of efficiency, there was still a victory to be claimed from this mess, so he dropped 150m from the rafters of the cathedral to the church floor.
One cultist, a boy barely old enough to grow hair on his chin, yelled, "There he is, get-"
Before he could finish, the transhuman killing machine was upon them. Not wishing to spend any more precious ammo on what amounted to cannon fodder, he fell upon them with naught but blade in hand. He wasn't the frenzied, pharmacological nightmare that was the Eversor assassin, but his work in close combat would be unrivaled amongst the chaff and weaklings before him. It took less than another minute to reduce the number to just himself and his mark.
"W-w-w-wait" the dead man stuttered, pissing himself with fear. "Y-you don't-t-t have to do this."
It wasn't often that got within speaking distance of his target, and he took a moment to savor the experience before treading over to him. As he approached he noticed the thin loop of chain that had previously been hidden under his cloak, the assassin's suspicions now confirmed
V-597-IN, in a dead, terrible, mechanical voice, spoke, "A personal force shield from the Dark Age of Technology."
The statement sent the man into a frenzy of confessions and blubbering apologies that the assassin took no heed of. Instead he loaded his Exitus pistol with a special magazine from his rear bullet bandolier.
"Exitus acta probat." He prayed aloud.
"W-what?" the heretic managed to spit out
"The outcome justifies the deed." he finished, and fired the specialized shield breaker round straight into the cranium of the would-be messiah.
The assassin felt a warm glow of satisfaction and pleasure as the brain matter of the heretic was splattered out in a wide arc of gore on the ground. That was until said gore started pooling upwards. Stepping backwards in surprise, the assassin quickly realized that the same could be said for every corpse around him. Before even his transhuman senses could react, the churning maelstrom of unborn nightmares and daemons above him heaved itself into reality, and he was swallowed by the portal. The utter insanity of the Warp had him screaming a soundless scream as he felt the presence of daemons burrowing into his brain as a maggot would a corpse. Indistinct, indescribable things bubbled in his vision. A vision of a dragon or an eagle… and its claws sunk into a bleeding galaxy or world, and behind it all, was the booming echo of thirsting gods.
"The… Emperor… protects," he whispered before consciousness failed him.
The Vindicare immediately shot up and began scanning his environment, his psycho-indoctrination reasserting itself instantly. What he saw did nothing to answer any questions the assassin had. Why was he still alive, and how had he ended up here of all places? He seemed to be on some sort of… troop transport with some… juveniles? But what troop transport would ever sport such large and vulnerable windows, or be colored such an atrocious shade of yellow? And for that matter…
"What the hell am I wearing?" he thought in absolute confusion.
Instead of the protective, comforting sheath of his synskin stealth suit, he found himself wearing some strange polyester overcoat that shone dimly in the sun. He tore it off immediately, not able to bear the shame of wearing a piece of reflective clothing. What lay underneath was hardly better, the thin, black t-shirt and jeans he was wearing unlikely to deflect even the smallest caliber rounders. Even worse, he realized to his absolute dread, was the missing presence of his Exitus rifle and pistol. Their unfamiliar absence was a greater pain than any the battlefield could offer, his psycho-indoctrination once again kicking in to register their loss as akin to the feeling of setting his head on fire. His spymask was also absent, revealing his face to the open air for the first time in a month. He examined himself briefly in the reflection of the window, looking for any signs of chaos-induced mutations. To his relief, his brief assessment of his body revealed no deviations from the holy human form. All he saw was his dark, nearly black eyes and his 17-year old face staring back at him. His hair, already patched with spots of white due to metabolic stresses he'd endured during the assassin's ascension to a fully fledged Vindicare, was just as he left it—as a simple crew cut. All of his scars were still present, the largest being two faded, jagged lines that ran from his lower jaw to his left ear. His face was just as lined, angular, and grimset as he'd left it last time, so he felt confident nothing about his physical body had changed.
Vaguely he registered some fool yelling about "cupcakes" as he rapidly took inventory of what available weapons he had. His conclusion: absolutely nothing. Though he was ashamed of the prospect (for the unofficial credo of the Vindicare temple was to slay from afar and silently), if he had to engage in combat, he'd have to rely on his fists.
"Yo Vin," a voice who'd just gone through prepubescence called to him.
Looking to his right, he realized that the youth he was sharing a seat with, a thin pasty boy, was talking to him.
"What's up? A snake wiggle in there?" he snarked, gesturing to the discarded jacket.
"You know me?" the Assassin asked flatly.
The boy frowned slightly, and smiled in confusion, "Ha, should I not? You're my partner for today's assignment."
"I do not remember being assigned to a killteam with you."
A brief show of concern flashed across his face, but it quickly morphed into a humorous expression that the assassin wanted to knock off his face.
"Bro I don't know what you took before you got on this bus, but you gotta share."
V-597-IN replied bluntly, "I doubt your physiology could handle it."
"Ugh," cried the boy in mock pain. "You wound me deeply Vinny"
"I see no- wait what did you call me?"
The lad flashed a quick grin, "Oh come on, Vinny ain't a bad-"
"No Before that," the Vindicare interrupted.
He could see the hesitation in the boy's face as his primitive mind processed the request. Briefly he contemplated throttling him to hasten the process.
"Ummm are you ok dude-"
He transfixed him with a glare capable of boring through concrete
"Answer," the assassin growled.
"Jesus dude, I called you Vin."
"... as in V-I-N?"
"How else would you spell it you f-"
Before the boy's nervous system could register the movement, the assassin's hand was already traveling towards the boy's chin in a viscous short arc. The open palmed strike instantly knocked the consciousness out of the boy, though his body and the sound of the bus traveling along whatever dilapidated road they were on blocked any eyes or ears from witnessing the act. A Vindicare was nothing if not subtle. Quickly, he tore apart the boy's jeans to fashion a quick gag and bind his hands. Somehow, this boy had gained access to the alphabetic characters of his serial designator. He had to be interrogated at the nearest opportunity. But the assassin still had information to gather from his surroundings, and he settled with making sure his new captive wouldn't go anywhere. Leaning the boy against the window of the bus, with his face turned away, he looked like nothing more than a sleeping student. Task complete, the assassin broaded his senses, letting his mind parse every conversation and remark these children were making. Quickly he detected a tone and topic that broke from the banal harmony the rest of the juveniles were discussing.
"Guys seriously," an obviously confused male voice who identified as Jason stated. "What am I doing? Where are we going?"
Was someone else in a similar situation? The chances of not one, but two people surviving the clutches of the Warp and being deposited in the same place were so close to zero as to be the same thing. Then again, the Warp was a capricious and cruel thing that liked to bend the laws of reality on a whim
"Blasted Warp." the Vindicare grumbled as he marched over to a pair of three youths in the back.
Feedback and Reviews are appreciated. I don't have a beta so if anyone feels up for it, give me a pm. And yes we're starting with Jason, Piper, and Leo's journey, but don't worry. We'll have everyone meetup and sing kumbaya soon enough. Also I'm completely new to this website, so I dunno if I can edit chapters yet, cause I know there are some punctuation problems with my dialogue. If there is a way, then I'll fix it. If not I'll make sure not to repeat them in later chapters.