Apathy

by Throwaway1971

Not important please ignore

25. Interlude A

Horus, Valdor and the other Custodes who hadn't yet been given a name were looking a little shellshocked. The recent revelations about their Emperor had given them quite the shock. Or rather, an extreme level of shock. It was something that the three of them were unable to fully comprehend. The Emperor that they thought existed, was very clearly different from the actual Emperor. The actual Emperor was a being that was incredibly… immature.

"What was that…" Asked Horus a little dazed.

"Ummm. That was… Ummm. Me. I guess." Said the Emperor of Mankind, looking a little abashed as he did so. Not ashamed, just a little abashed, like it was only a little worrying that his darkest secret had been found out. It was incredibly disturbing, to say the least, but it made so much sense.

While the Emperor had a very large amount of charisma, he also was severely lacking when it came to actually doing things that required more of a… concentrated level of thought. He left that up to his generals now that they thought about it.

"Well, that was interesting no doubt. I am sure that you wish to ask your Emperor questions, but we hope that we have shown you that we are quite serious when we say what we are about to say." Said Magi, floating over to them.

They were in a room now, what looked like an auditorium that had 5 seats in it. The four of them looked at each other, 5 seats? Who could be the fifth?

"Mal's coming?" Asked the Emperor of Mankind.

"Yes. We are merely awaiting his acceptance of the invitation that we sent." Said Magi.

Malcador stared at the letter on his desk.

"Don't open this or everything will go wrong and the universe will explode." It said on the cover.

Malcador barely resisted the urge to throw it in the bin. It was another one of the Emperor of Mankind's pranks and he was trying to resist the urge to find which of his staff had been bribed to bring it over and put it on his desk in the first place.

At the same time he had to open it, sometimes the Emperor included vital information in these joke envelopes just to make sure that Malcador opened each one and read the contents. Malcador found the entire exercise to be a test of his patience, each envelope was more garish than the last. This one in particular, had what looked to be little seashells dotted around on it, the entire thing coloured hot pink.

He sighed and opened up the envelope, slitting it open with his letter knife. He was a different man from the one that snorted Ilustrium from the ass of an Eldar Prostitute all those years ago. He had responsibilities now, responsibilities that included the billions of humans already under their influence, and the countless more that were going to be brought into the fold as the Great Crusade expanded ever outward.

He still had his puffing sessions, but other than that? His recreational activities had been curbed, more out of necessity than anything else. He was Malcador the Sigillite and if The Emperor of Mankind could pretend to be serious in front of mankind, then he could pretend that this was the person he said he was.

Unfolding the letter he stared down at it.

What.

"Put your thumb on the swirl if you accept this invitation to be awesome."

Malcador heaved a sigh. A very large one. It looked like this was going to be a practical joke of some kind, but at the same time, he couldn't dismiss it. The Emperor liked to included actual messages in these even if most of the time they were jokes. Force him to read each bloody one. Pressing his thumb on the little swirl Malcador waited for the letter to explode in a puff of glitter or whatever it was that this one was going to do.

Only to be very surprised when the surroundings changed and he was in a room where there looked to be a floating boy/girl/thing and the Emperor? What the fuck?

Since when had the Emperor mastered the art of teleporting people from one location to another? Remote activated as well? He could do it for himself, but for someone else? Since when did that happen?

There was Horus and the two Custodes, one of which was the Emperor's usual guard, the other an unknown. For some reason, they were looking at Malcador with an immense amount of respect, far more than he was used to experiencing. What had happened?

"Ah Malcador, it is good of you to join us, we have been waiting." Said the floating figure as it gestured for Malcador to take a seat.

""You have questions. Ask." Said the figure.

"What happened to them?" Malcador asked, gesturing to the quartet that still hadn't sat down yet. Neither had he for that matter, trusting random floating figures was a very good way to end up floating, temporarily as your body exploded into lots of little pieces too small for identification later.

"We merely showed them the past." Said the figure.

Malcador pondered over the words for a moment before his head whipped to the left as he stared at the Emperor of Mankind. The man's uneasy expression was enough to tell him exactly what it was that they other 3 had seen when the figure referred to the "past."

"Which parts?" Asked Malcador to the Emperor of Mankind.

"The parts which were rated at a 7 on the embarrassment scale." Said the floating figure complacently.

"The first Eldar orgy bit." The Emperor said, grinning at him, embarrassment forgotten.

Malcador nodded to himself, if that was what was shown, no wonder they were showing him more respect, no doubt their image of the Emperor of Mankind had fallen quite a way downward.

"And who are you?" Malcador asked of the figure.

"We are MAGI. You are here because we have a proposal for you and the Emperor of Mankind." It said, tilting its head as it did so.

"Please, explain." Said Malcador, his voice conveying his interest, it was not often that something or someone managed to make the Emperor of Mankind shut up for a moment.

"We are MAGI and it is in our interest for you to continue existing past the 31,000 mark." It continued, stunning the room.

"Me… or all of us?" Malcador asked, the figure was looking at him when it spoke it was slightly worrying.

"You and the Emperor of Mankind. We would prefer it if you were intact following the year mentioned." It said, smiling… or trying to smile.

"Why?"

"You are entertaining. It is very much in our interest to keep you intact so that you may continue to be so." It said.

"We are entertaining and so you want to keep us around to entertain you?"

"Correct."

"And why would we accept?" Malcador asked, intrigued despite himself. It was very clearly not human, the manner in which it referred to itself told him that, however, it was trying at least to appear human. He appreciated the gesture even if he was not sure exactly why.

"We offer you what you desire. A humanity that is secure and safe. All that we ask is your cooperation." It said, turning around and waving at the screen that had appeared from seemingly nowhere.

"Please, watch." On the screen was displayed a map of the galaxy. On it was a very clearly labelled "Grand tour of Bob and Malcador to do all that could be done" which showed their journey through the galaxy, particularly into the Eldar territories and a few of the more exotic alien species. It was an old map however, not displaying the vast gaping hole in the galaxy that was the Eye of Terror instead showing the cluster of systems that was the Eldar crone systems. Malcador was sure that there were Eldar worlds still left in the Eye of Terror, but it would take a particularly insane adventurer to try and seek them out.

"Apologies. The wrong slide has appeared." It was smirking, enjoying the look of discomfort on the Emperor's face. Malcador thought it was wrong of him to enjoy it, but the man/god had put him through enough that it was certainly worth it.

"Here we are. Please. Watch."

It was a map of the galaxy as they knew it, a chronometer in the top right corner. As it ticked over, the arrows depicting the Emperor, Horus, Malcador and more of the Primarchs he assumed popped up, as well as the campaigns they were being dispatched across. Systems fell under their control, the galaxy was united and it looked perfectly fine, he was not sure what was even wrong.

That was until the symbol of one of the future Primarchs turned dark red. Then in close contact with Horus' symbol and half of the total Primarchs, they turned inward and began a march straight to the core of the human empire, to Terra. Malcador's symbol blinked out, as did one of the friendly Primarchs and then so did Horus'. The Emperor's flashed yellow, for hazard as it was placed into Terra.

From there the timer accelerated and it showed the traitor Primarchs being located in the Eye of Terror which gave all the information he needed to know as to why they had betrayed the Emperor in the first place. As for the friendly ones, they disappeared as time passed and eventually it was just the Emperor, never moving from Terra.

"So we are betrayed and so we lose everything?" Asked Malcador, not sure what he should be feeling considering he knew when he was going to die. He didn't consider that it might be a hoax, it was too damned detailed to be that.

"Yes. We wish to avoid this fate and the corruption of your Primarchs. You are worth more to us alive than dead, either or is acceptable, however." It said, the chilling implications of what it implied sending sweat down Malcador's spine. It could catch souls?

"What is the cost that you would ask of us to do this?" Malcador asked, the Emperor he noticed was glaring at the map. Apparently, he took a personal affront to the idea that future him could be defeated at all.

"You and the Emperor of Mankind are to join the Commander's Court. Your actions within the Court are wholly your own, merely that they be of some entertainment." Said the figure.

Malcador tipped his head to consider the implications. Apparently, they were already entertaining enough for it to seek them out like this, so it can't be all bad. Yet being at the whim of another being never sat right with Malcador, at least the Emperor could be partially controlled, or at least directed. A tough decision to make, not one that he wanted to make. Hmmmmm.

"We will allow multi-versal access."

"Wait wait wait." The Emperor spoke up for the first time. "Does that mean I can fuck with other me's?" He asked, voice quivering with excitement.

"Yes." Said MAGI.

"We're in. Fuck everything, we are in. Malcador! Get it set up. What do we need to do floating person!" Called out the Emperor, displaying his great leadership skills… for the completely wrong situation. Malcador sighed, it looked like he was being roped into another death game. At least this time there wasn't barbed wire and dildos involved.

MAGI was true to its word. Barely 500 years later, the entire galaxy had been conquered and Mankind stood dominant of all the races. The Orks had been crushed beneath the might of the Emperor's armies, themselves bolstered by technology that made a mockery of all that they had previously. Their navies demolishing entire systems from orbit with a mere push of a button.

Mankind itself was united, creating their own webway network to allow for incredibly fast travel between worlds, between systems, between galaxies if need be. The Emperor was the lynchpin of it all, uniting humanity, destroying dissent and doing away with the old ways entirely. The Cult Mechanicus dissolved, the various little clans, noble families, Navigators, all of them gone. In their place was a humanity ruled by an AI that made decisions on how best for each individual to maximise their lives. It had been a little difficult to get over the Men of Iron legacy, but nothing a giant flaming sword couldn't fix.

Leaving the Emperor and his trusted advisor to disappear once their work was done.

"So… what kind of multi-dimensional fuckery are we getting up to now?" Asked Bob, Emperor of Mankind of Universe #0000293914.

"There is a small child, her name is Taylor. We wish to give her access to the Imperial Guard and to make her a Primarch so that she may fight monsters both man and xeno." Said MAGI.

"Aaaand the fucking about comes in where?"

"You will imitate your Throne bound copy, and create for him a daughter." It said, smiling gently.

"Oh shit. That is a good one. Ok, let's do this."

And so begins the story of Taylor Hebert, the 21st Primarch.

The 3 Primarchs, 2 senior, 1 junior walked forward. Their end goal was a dank basement deep underneath the capital of Ultramar. It was a place only told of in legends, a place where reality went to die and common sense was considered an enemy. The Primarchs themselves were walking down the corridor that connected to a grav-lift, which in turn connected to more corridors and ever more elaborate methods of descending. To start one merely needed to jump down a deep hole that was the grav-lift, it would slow them down before they smashed their legs at the bottom, which was a small amount of reassurance at least. The others… well they were slightly more complicated.

It was at the core that Perturabo could be found, hunched over his desk, feverishly muttering about things best forgotten in the annals of time and space. His face pale, his body wracked with exhaustion. Months upon months of no sleeping, his body pushed to the point where even his Primarch body would collapse in on itself, devouring its own muscle mass in order to survive. Even a Primarch's psykic ability to grow their bodies to perfection even in the most fetid and disgusting environments was pushed beyond its ability.

It was in this environment that Perturabo purposefully placed himself, locking himself away as he mumbled and chanted softly. His mind wracked by delirium and insanity. It was on Ultramar that he had escaped the clutches of Rogal Dorn, manufacturing a prison break that would be spoken of for millennia to come. He had avoided an entire Chapter's worth of Space Marines, millions of Imperial Guardsmen, thousands of Arbites and customs officials, all of it to stow away on a freighter headed to Ultramar.

It was here that the 3 Primarchs were walking toward.

"Should we have worn our armour?" Asked Roboute, his face uncertain as they delved deeper into the labyrinth that Rob was leading them through. Roboute was not even aware that this had been constructed underneath Ultramar, let alone that it was even here in the first place. It was a very disturbing thought that something like this could have escaped his notice in the first place. Was he not the lord of Ultramar? Was it not his duty to know all that passed beneath his gaze?

Yet somehow, there was… this, underneath his capital city, where he himself sat and held court.

"He is under here? Are you sure brother?" Asked Vulkan, looking about the corridor uneasily. This one in particular, was barely large enough for a single Primarch to fit through, an average sized one at that, Magnus would have been left behind many hundreds of meters ago. As it was, they were walking in single file down the corridor, one of the 27 choices presented.

They kept walking. Walking for another half an hour, each different branching path more bewildering than the last. One required that they swim through what must have been a hundred meters underwater, in the dark. Not exactly the most fun of experiences. Given that they were Primarchs, it had been a simple matter, but for the casual visitor, it must have been quite the shock. The next was a series of bars with a floor covered in spikes taller than a Warhound titan. One needed to swing across, timing each so that they would reach the other side but conserve enough momentum to swing again, as to not block the ones behind them. While it wouldn't kill them, it would certainly hurt.

Then there were the ones with little ledges that required one to climb up hundreds of meters, or downward, sometimes having to leap from a little post sticking out of the wall to another. Each method of traversal more absurd than the last.

Finally, they stood before an unassuming wooden door, suspicious in its unassuming nature. It was at the end of a corridor, a very unassuming stone corridor. Which in itself was strange, given that at the depths it was located, mere stone would have been melted long ago by both the pressure and the heat.

Rob motioned for his brothers to be quiet. Lifted his hand and knocked on the door. Once. Twice. Thrice. No more, no less. Not unless he wanted to activate the automated defences.

There was no answer.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

Again, no answer.

Rob turned the knob and pushed his way in, his brothers behind him stiffening up as he did so.

"Perturabo! Visitors!" Rob called out as he made his way inside.

Roboute and Vulkan froze inside the door, staring at the inside of the room before them. A vast, cavernous, enormous, meganormous room stood before them. Enough to fit an entire Chapter of Space Marines inside of it, with their equipment, armoured support, transports, Strike Cruisers, and dreadnoughts. It was supported by a network of vast load bearing pillars above it, the connecting beams stretching out overhead.

There was no shadow in here, lights on the walls, hanging from the ceiling, and on upright lamps all over the ground served to illuminate all of it. There was no darkness here, only harsh white light, that not so much as bathed those that stood inside of it, but instead beat at their eyes with its incandescence.

It looked as if a war had been fought, only with paper and not lasers and bolts. The entire room, covered in paper. From the floors and the various mounds that Roboute assumed were desks, there was paper piled into veritable hill which rose up on high, nearly 50 meters tall in some cases. All of the room was covered in this, except for one, tiny, twisting and precarious path through the paper snow.

The walls were papered with sheets of paper, some of them long enough to be considered tapestries, stretching across the walls, and in some cases hanging down from the ceiling, like banners of a type. There was nothing which the three Primarchs could see that was not covered in paper of some kind. White paper, parchment yellow, blue paper, green, transparent paper, all the different colours that one could have paper, there was paper.

"Brothers. Do not move." Whispered Rob out of the side of his mouth. Standing absolutely still. "Whatever you do, do not move." He continued.

The two brother Primarchs heard and obeyed, standing still as servo skulls flew over to their location. Some of them very clearly had volkite weapons underneath them, floating haphazardly in front of the Primarchs while a few more arrived with what looked to be Narthecium mounted beneath it.

"Hand." They intoned, one before each Primarch.

As one the Primarchs raised their hands and a drop of blood was retrieved.

"Identities Confirmed. Primarchs Roboute Guilliman, Roboute Guilliman, Vulkan. You are free to proceed."

The skulls returned back to their stations at that, leaving the Primarchs alone again.

"Well, would you like a tour?" Asked Rob, grinning at his Brothers.

"What is down here that requires so much security brother?" Asked Vulkan, craning his head to the left and right as he followed Rob.

Rob grinned even wider and ducked down to pick up a sheet of paper. Standing up again he flipped it upright and handed it to his brothers.

"This, brothers. This."

"This is… a meltagun? No, it is identifying a flaw in the design. It.. it is a newly designed meltagun?!" Vulkan cried out, staring at the paper in his hands.

"What?" Roboute asked, leaning over the shoulder of his Brother and staring at the sheet in his hand.

"It is… it is completely revolutionary." Vulkan said, holding the piece of paper as if it was a holy relic from the Dark Age of Technology. Staring at it with the intention to no doubt burn it into his memory. The Adeptus Mechanicus would no doubt look upon it with distrustful eyes, but it was so very clearly an improvement in his eyes.

Roboute on the other hand, was thinking, very hard as to the implications of this. Having better meltas would ensure his Space Marines and the Imperial Guard would be much more effective in combat. Their armies not as limited as before by the range of the devices.

"Wait. What about the other pieces?" Asked Roboute, his head snapping upwards and staring at the mountains of it. What had appeared useless before in his eyes suddenly took on the importance of the Imperial Library on Terra, a goldmine of information, of designs, of everything. All of it underneath his own feet without his knowledge.

Rob continued to grin at him and motioned for Roboute to look at the pieces of paper himself. He did so, picking up piece after piece, staring at designs for safer Plasma weapons, at new ships, at architecture, at treatises on construction and manufacturing, every subject that Roboute could think of, all of it included, all of it thrown haphazardly on the floor, to be picked over by visiting Primarchs.

He looked up and stared at Rob who was grinning at him.

"You knew about this?" He asked.

"Yes, Perturabo comes here every few years to "unwind" as he calls it. It is a way for his repressed mind to let loose with everything that has built up inside it." Rob said.

"Why doesn't he just do this while he is with Rogal?" Asked Vulkan, an armful of paper held to his chest.

"Well… for that we have to go deeper." Said Rob. He gave a little shudder and turned. "Drop those designs brother, once Perturabo leaves, all the paper is left behind for us to sort through and to be sent to whoever might be interested in it the most." He continued, turning his head back as he walked forward.

Roboute and Vulkan did as he said and followed closely behind. As they did so, it became evident that the further they went in, the more erratic the paper was arranged. Whereas before it at least tried to be ordered, now there was quite literal mounds of the stuff, stacked haphazardly up into mountains of paper, teetering on the brink of collapse as they walked past.

The paper no longer was all lying facedown, rather now, there was designs being strewn about, facing upwards, the designs becoming steadily more and more erratic. Buildings that stretched upwards for kilometers, loaded with what looked like the entire arsenal of Terra. Others still looked like enormous gardens covering entire worlds with their splendor.

And deeper they went, until the entrance was blocked from sight, the paper surrounding them like a desert. Rob continued to stride forward steadily but the other Primarchs were wondering if there were any bodies to be found, getting lost and dying in the desert. How they got in, in the first place was irrelevant but it was something to think about as they forded their way through to Perturabo.

As they went deeper, a massive vat caught the eye of Vulkan. It was one of the Promethean vats that should have been on a Battleship, supplying the fuel to cook the food for the ship's population and for their weapons. Instead, it was here, hanging downward from the ceiling and supported by a scaffold network underneath it.

"What is that?" Asked Vulkan, staring at the vat, 100 meters high, 60 meters wide.

"That is Perturabo's tanna vat." Said Rob.

"Tanna?" Asked Roboute.

"A drink made from the leaves of the tanna plant, contains caffeine. Perturabo used to use recaff, but it was too strong for him, so he has switched to tanna." Explained Rob, "there is a pipe as you can see underneath it, if we follow the pipe it will take us to Perturabo."

Roboute and Vulkan waded over and followed Rob's instructions, as they walked the pieces of paper began to display even more erratic signs. What looked like architectural designs but upside down, others still holding no useful function that the could discern, large masses of ceramite and plasteel that stretched to the heavens.

There was also many more pieces of paper that were crumpled into little balls, crushed beneath the fingers of a Primarch's superhuman strength. Crushed to the point where the paper had merged with itself, forming a hard ball in the cast of a fist.

Deeper they went, the tanna pipe being their guide into the depths of what was surely Perturabo's mind. A mess of barely coherent design, on one hand, flashes of genius on the other.

"This is the point of no return." Said Rob. Slowing down imperceptibly. "Do not make any sudden moves, he doesn't like that when he is like this."

In front of them, behind several sheets of paper hanging from lines, connecting to the pillars in a circular formation, was Perturabo. Only it was not the one that the two older Primarchs remembered, this one was thin, emaciated, with a fanatical and wild look upon his face. He was hunched over the desk, muttering to himself as his hand held a quill that scratched the paper before him. Wide arcs and frantic muttering with louder, more audible grumbles at certain points, like the tide that ebbed and flowed.

"That… is Perturabo." Rob sighed, gesturing at his brother.

"That is Perturabo?"

Understandably Roboute was confused. The figure in front of him was emaciated to the point where he was more bone than man. A skeletal figure with prominent veins popping out underneath his skin, the skin itself draped loosely over his bones. He was standing up, hunched over the drawing desk in front of him, hand scribbling on the trace paper in front of him. Paper that was slightly transparent so that one could trace the images underneath. They walked around to the front to get a better look at him.

The rather maniacal look in his eyes brought them up short. He was facing them, yet not seeing them. His focus entirely on the desk before him. His body did not look any better from the front, his face gaunt, his skin looking as if it were designed to hold much more muscle than it currently was. Loose flaps of it hanging down from his face.

"Yes, he's currently in the middle of an episode. It would be best to leave him for a while until he's ready to communicate with us." Said Rob, looking rather uneasily at Roboute.

"I see no food. How is he even alive?" Asked Vulkan, looking on at Perturabo with horror.

"He is a Primarch brother, the most advanced human to have ever existed besides our father. The keystone of humanity is our ability to adapt. His body is slowly adapting to using tanna to power itself, with enough time he might even be able to use it exclusively." Said Rob. A slight bit of wonder in his voice.

"What do we do from there?" Asked Roboute.

"We poke him." Said Rob, smiling rather nastily at his brothers.

"Poke him?"

"Oh yes, like a Fire Drake. Just go and poke him." Beamed Rob, offering a rather suspiciously long rod from the floor to Vulkan.

"Poke him." Vulkan stated, staring down at the rod in his hand.

A grin, a very wide grin was his answer. As well as Rob taking a few steps back and dragging his brother back as well.

Vulkan frowned at him, thinking some very un-nice thoughts about Rob as he did so.

Lifting up the stick, Vulkan stepped forward cautiously and prodded Perturabo, lightly, on the shoulder.

What happened next was completely out of Vulkan's expectations. He had thought that Perturabo would react dangerously perhaps, instinctively lashing out and attacking him. A beast like Angron of old, wildly striking out.

Instead, Perturabo dropped. Like a slab of ceramite, that simply decided to stop trying to hold up the weight above it. Toppling over into a lump onto the floor.

Vulkan stared. Roboute stared. Rob grinned.

He took a step back and grinned. It was starting, only this time it would be Vulkan and Roboute in the line of fire.

Vulkan took a step forward ready to assist, only for Perturabo to leap up, his figure once again spry as he ran to Vulkan and grabbed him by the arms.

"Have you come to see my art?" Gasped Perturabo, his voice rumbling.

"Art?" Asked Vulkan, face full of confusion.

"Yes! Do you not see the greatness before you! Look Vulkan! Look and wonder upon the greatness, the magnificence before you!" Cried Perturabo, dragging Vulkan to the desk before him.

"Do you SEE it? Do you comprehend? Can you comprehend? Does your mind allow you to even glimpse the genius behind this?" Continued Perturabo, his voice unhinged, unsteady. His body uncomfortably close the Vulkan's as he continued to speak.

"I... I don't understand?" Asked Vulkan, ending his statement with a question. His face was twisted with confusion and fear, staring at Rob, his eyes demanding answers.

"What is there to not understand? It is SIMPLE!" Said Perturabo.

Vulkan stared below him. At the… face? The disjointed face that looked up at him from the drawing board. It was… angular. Being generous, one might call it "abstract", a face made up of squares and triangles, the neck the base, the head disproportionately large and expanded. One eye appeared to be a triangle, the other a rectangle. Further, the cheeks were not symmetrical and the head appeared to be caved in on the left hand side.

Vulkan simply looked at it. He was not sure what he was missing. Surely there was something here that would give it away?

"Look look! See? It makes sense. It makes ALL the sense!" Cried out the Junior Primarch, his face twisted into a grin of insanity inducing proportions.

Lifting up the first page, Perturabo showed what was underneath, a building section (frontal cut-away of the ship) in which there were rooms, stairs, a bridge, several barracks, a plasma reaction, a series of macro-cannons… a battleship? It was a ship design?

"See? Can you see the greatness that it represents? The egalitarian nature of it, the Social Equality BUILT INTO IT. Can you see it? Can you comprehend it? It is GREATNESS." Whispered Perturabo into Vulkan's ear, hand over his shoulders, caressing the page before him as he did so.

"How did you do this?" He asked.

"I took a pict cap of my face. I used my face. Mankind's face. I used it and I traced it. I made it MINE. Abstraction, abstraction, abstraction. Crumple trace paper. Pict cap again. Abstract, abstract, abstract! Trace it. Trace the lines. Make it mine. Use it. Make it. Draw it. Design it. Build, build, build. Can you see it now Vulkan? Can you understand now? It is the ship for the people, a place to for the citizen to grow in, to be inside the head of another?" Perturabo continued, face growing ever closer to Vulkans.

He stared at him, unblinkingly, boring his eyes into the side of Vulkan's increasingly uncomfortable head. Sweat was beading on his skin, sweat that had not appeared even when Vulkan spent hours if not days in the forges. Like a wolf scenting weakness, Perturabo moved his face even closer, the minute facial hairs on his face caressing Vulkan's bald head.

"Do you see?"

Vulkan looked mildly terrified. He was perfectly fine with his Thunder Hammer and nothing else against monstrous beasts the size of hab-blocks. He had dived through orbit, nothing but a small strip of cloth on his back to break his fall. He had tunnelled deep into the earth to fight horrors that came from all sides, looking like beasts that should never have seen a human face. He had persevered and he had come away confident and proud.

Here. Here he was terrified. His hand clutched at an invisible Thunder Hammer, a hammer that he very much wished that he had brought today. If he had, then perhaps he would not be in this situation.

Roboute decided to save Vulkan, while it was amusing to see, it was also rather disturbing to see a Primarch act in this manner.

"Perturabo!" He hailed, lifting his hand in greeting, "Why are you not with Rogal?" He asked.

He was not prepared for the explosion.

"ROGAL! ROGAL DORN! THAT PHILISTINE! YOU SEEK TO UNDERSTAND WHY I AM NOT WITH HIM? DO YOU WISH FOR ME TO DIE BROTHER?" Roared Perturabo, his face twisting into a grimace of anger and hatred.

Roboute took a step back, the vitriol was unexpected, the passion in which it was delivered certainly surprising.

"What exactly is your issue with him Perturabo?" Asked Roboute, ignoring the snickers behind him from Rob.

"He looks upon the grandeur of my design. His puny mind cannot comprehend the greatness that is before him. He cannot understand why it is that he is inferior. WEAK! He says. 'Your designs are IMPRACTICAL', he said. Your buildings are 'NON-FUNCTIONAL', he says. It is wasteful, he says. Rogal does not, does not understand the greatness that is the mind of Perturabo. He does not comprehend the possibilities of my design, of the greatness laid out before him. He stays, staid and stagnant on Terra, unable to expand out into the world, to see everything that could be." Perturabo ranted, spinning away from Vulkan, hands in the air. His skeletal figure certainly made him look rather hilarious, but the deliverance of his words certainly felt like bolter shells.

"I… I…" Roboute stuttered, he was not sure what he could even say in response.

"It is glorious. All of it. How dare he say that my designs are a waste? How DARE he!" Cried out Perturabo. His voice suggested that he was near tears. Indeed he was, he turned around and tears rolled down his cheeks, giving his face distinctly mask like appearance as the dust on his face was washed away. Unfortunately, Perturabo was not a graceful cryer, his face becoming splotchy and his nose running as he did so.

He hugged Vulkan and rubbed his face against the taller Primarch's chest, smearing snot and tears all over his clothing. He compounded this by snorting on Vulkan, clearing his nose, before turning away and striding out.

"Is it too much to ask that my genius be recognized? Can you not understand the greatness?" He pleaded, gesturing at the design on the table, waving over Roboute.

Roboute walked over and looked down at it, his face twisted into a grimace. This was not Imperial Architecture, this was… this was… abstract. He was not sure what it was, he was not sure why it even existed and it was very clearly something that not only Rogal with his staid ways would consider impractical, but even he, Roboute Guilliman would consider to be impractical. He looked down at it and was not sure why it even existed in the first place. If he had not been told that it was based on a face, he would have been left in the dark and clueless worse than Vulkan had been.

But he also did not want to say anything for Perturabo was… not looking at him.

Rather he was frothing on the floor, flailing about as his body jerked and generally looked as if it were someone undergoing a seizure of some kind.

What is going on…

"Don't worry about it." Said Rob, his first words in a long time.

The other two Primarchs turned to face him, questions on their faces.

"He is merely going through the final phase of his episode." Rob said, grinning as he brought his hands out from behind his back, showing cases filled with rations. "I was on my way here when I was waylaid by you, I usually check on him once a month or so."

He walked over to the now inert figure of Perturabo, pulling out a pack of rations from the bag at his side, opened the unconscious Primarch's mouth and popped the tab that kept the ration paste contained. A rough squeeze into his mouth and a knee on Perturabo's chest to stop him thrashing about, Rob forced him to swallow the paste.

8 tubes later, Rob was back up and Perturabo was on his feet, staring at them, his face looking as if he had been to the depths of the Warp and had come back to report what he saw. "Brothers? What are you doing here?" He asked, looking bewildered as to what was happening.

"You just came out of an episode," Rob said, handing over the rest of the rations to the emaciated Primarch, grinning at him with irreverence.

"Oh… I didn't do anything this time did I?" Asked Perturabo, his expression one of apprehension and fear.

"If you call crying all over poor Vulkan here and deafening everyone 'something', then yes, you did something." Rob said, dragging out the words and digging them in deeper, each word bringing an expression out on the Primarch's face.

Perturabo stared at Vulkan in horror, "did I?" He asked, slumping at Vulkans nod.

"I apologize that you had to be here for that Brothers, usually Rob is the only one who sees me like this."

"What was that exactly?" Asked Roboute, concern dripping from his voice.

"I sometimes get these moods, when I need to just design and design. I lash out at any who come close and are a danger to any around me. I won't come out of this episode until many weeks or months even had passed. I told Rob of my problem and he helped me build this place, where I could be left alone until the episode was over." Perturabo explained, his face twisted in a grimace.

Roboute sighed. Raising the Primarchs was certainly much more difficult than he had thought. If two of them were like this, and Rob looking to be a mischief maker, then what of the others?

"Angrone, remind me again why we are out here?" Said Rob, frowning at his brother as he spoke.

"We are here, seeking to expand our knowledge of the Imperium and to discover the many different facets of ourselves." Said Angrone, his words contrasting deeply with his winks and subtle body language as he smiled at the young women walking past.

"Yes, which is why I feel I must say something regarding your actions on Ultiser, the planet we are on? The one we have been sent to so that you don't chase women?" Asked Rob, exasperated. He had gotten his request approved of by Roboute, of sending the three of them out into the wider galaxy to explore their own natures and bodies. Only it had turned out differently than expected, or rather just as expected when Angrone started gave his "heavy lidded eyes" look at every eligible female that walked past. Which in this case was all of them. Angrone didn't discriminate based on age, size, or shape. All women were "worthy of his love" apparently.

Rob had long given up on Angrone, trying to change his mind on anything was impossible, he had inherited his genesire's bullheadedness and dogged determination after all. He could be directed, however, simply channelling his passion into a certain path and one could reasonably predict what would happen. Immovable battering ram meets soft sponge, a prediction with very simple variables when it came down to it.

On the other hand, Perturabo was behind them, again.

He was looking about the world, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. It was his first time anywhere except Ultramar and Terra, the Agri-World of Ultiser itself was a marked departure from the previous examples. Where buildings resembled that of a tiny outpost of some kind, the tallest buildings being barely 100 meters tall in the most densest of areas. For the rest of it, in the towns where there were barely even a few thousand people, the buildings were 2 stories tall on average, The farms being spread out over thousands of kilometers. Vast machines, some of them bigger than the buildings themselves were responsible for harvesting the crops, others still were responsible for seeding, planting and anything else that might be necessary.

Ultiser on its own was located towards the Rim of the Ultramar Segmentum, dangerously close to the Ork raiding routes, however, a constant presence of Ultramarine Successor chapters kept the planet safe, the world being far too valuable to leave undefended. On its own, the system fed over 50 other planets, its food being vital to ensure the continued production and efficiency of the materials needed for the continued growth of the Imperium.

This world therefore, was very different from what Perturabo had been expecting and he was soaking in the sights. His mind wide and open, absorbing the knowledge as it came to him, greedily consolidating what he knew and the manner in which to combine the different forms of knowledge. The lack of people compared to Ultramar or even Terra meant that if he stopped and looked up, there wouldn't be anyone shouting at him to move out of the way, to shift his bulk. Even though he was shorter than his other Brothers, he was still a Primarch and towered over an average person.

The multi-story buildings were very different from what he was used to. Imperial architecture had been discarded here in favour for vertical designs. Instead of a wider base with a gothic overtone, the buildings were made of what appeared to be glass, rising straight up from its little plot on the ground. At the same time, the buildings displayed no uniformity that one would expect on an Imperial world, rather it had designs that looked so very different, as if each building was competing with the others in terms of design.

At the very least, the construction methods being demonstrated were in-line with the standard Imperial methods, using anti-gravitic devices in order to lift themselves up and haul up the necessary materials. The sheer… alienness of the designs had Perturabo's mind spinning, trying to meld together his thought patterns with what was being demonstrated.

Outside… looking in… Rob was looking at a man that was panting quite heavily and drooling slightly.

He sighed, walked over and used his hand to close Perturabo's chin and to gently pull him away, people were staring and while Rob was a Primarch and needed no man's acknowledgement, he also had a hint of modesty and didn't want people to think he was crazy. There was enough of that going around, thank you very much.

Being the only sane one out of the trio was taking its toll on him. Rob resolved to get his revenge on the two of them for the troubles they had put him through. He would have his revenge, it would be glorious, and it would be completely unexpected.

He grinned, they didn't know it yet, but they would be begging for mercy soon enough.

"Good Morning Rob(?) is it? I am Soros Exident, Planetary Governor, at your service." Said a particularly fat man. Or was he simply rotund? Rob knew that these kinds of body shapes existed, he had read the medical texts, he was just not prepared to see one this close. Everyone on Ultramar tended to be very fit, the military tradition his older brother had instated influencing all below him.

"Good morning Exident, I am Rob, Primarch." He said. An inward grin forming as he watched the words register on the man's face. No doubt the man had seen his brother in the infonet releases, and his face was certainly very similar to his brother's, only more handsome.

"I… I… I apologize Primarch Rob, I was not aware that you were coming. I. I… I am deeply sorry for keeping you waiting. I would have been outside to meet you if I had known." Stammered the man. Indeed Rob had been outside, waiting for quite a while, the Governor being on some kind of business somewhere. Rob was not a petty person however, he would definitely not make this Governor's life hell on earth for being ignored. After all, everyone deserved 1 chance.

"It's quite alright, Exident, I am here on a covert mission. It would not do if my arrival was trumpeted for the entire Segmentum to hear of. No, no, not your fault at all Exident." Said Rob, gingerly laying an arm on the man's shoulders, what if he was infected by what made this man so round? He brought himself slightly lower so he could look into the man's face, making sure to keep his strength contained. It would not do if he accidently crushed him to death now, would it?

"How. How can I help you, My Lord?" Asked the Governor, seemingly getting over his fear with Rob's gentle coaxing of him.

"Well, I am here with my two Brothers." He said, looking at the man, smiling gently (whilst grinning like a madman inside.) "I have been tasked to ensure that they are able to take up positions as dictated by their existence as Primarchs." He said, guiding the man to his chair and gently pushing him down. He was lying through his teeth, but the man didn't know that.

"Simply, my Brothers do not have the basic skills necessary to lead a Legion and I was hoping that with your assistance we could rectify that." Emphasising the we, bringing up illusions of grandeur in the man's eyes. He would be thinking of how his name would be spread through the galaxy for being the one that helped the Primarchs learn leadership. Not the most harmful of delusions, it would be useful for Rob.

"How might I do that?" Asked the man, carefully. He did not want to show overt greed, not at this stage. Not when there was a Primarch looking at him, but his eyes could not lie. He would be immortalised alongside the great generals of the Imperium for this.

"A simple assignment really. My Brothers have been tasked to keep themselves hidden, to not reveal their status as Primarchs. They will instead be considered as Sojourners for the duration of their stay and that means…" Rob drawled, twirling his hand, waving for the man to finish the sentence for him.

"They can accept requests!" Said the Governor, nearly shouting with excitement.

Ah, the innocent, how easily they are led, Rob thought. Or the guilty, or people in general actually. Innocence just made it easier. Which thinking about it, this man was very likely the opposite of innocent, what with him being a planetary governor. It mattered not, he would serve.

"Yes, and since it is a request from the Planetary Governor, they had no reasonable way to refuse… is that not correct? Especially from some very new, and green Sojourners on their first Sojourn." Rob finished for him.

The Governor beamed at him, he wasn't sure why Rob was doing this, but it would make him famous. That and it was hard to resist the Primarch's charisma, honed to a sharp edge that would shave off any resistance, and part of his face if he didn't watch out for that jawline.

For his part, Rob felt satisfaction, his revenge on the 2 for all their trouble was beginning. He was going to savour this.

Rob grinned widely as Angrone was sent off, his task assigning him to the literal middle of nowhere. He would be at the bequest of the Planetary Governor, teaching a few hundred young fops how to act like "gentlemen".

It was a posting designed to have the indolent and useless "extra" children of the system's nobility class put into a place where they could hopefully be made into something of use. Having a Sojourner (or what they thought was a Sojourner) teach the children was just a bonus.

The best part of it was that the children or rather, the young adults would have been sent to join the PDF's officer Corp, to begin with. Angrone taking the recruits instead was just a slight deviation from the norm. His attempts to weasel out of it, shut down by his strange sense of honour.

"You seem to be very pleased." Came a voice beside him. Shocking the Primarch. While he was not as militarily focused as his older Brothers, he was still the pinnacle of human development. He should have been able to detect the figure, the fact that he could not… that was very worrying.

Still, if it had sneaked up on him without any overt moves, clearly it was here to talk and not to fight.

"Yes, Angrone will be out in the middle of nowhere, with nobody to practise his wiles on. He will be increasingly frustrated as time passes and he might even burst. It promises to be hilarious." Said Rob, not trying to hide anything. It probably knew what he was thinking as it was. One did not get a visit from random little creatures without them at least having an inkling of what was on his mind. It was simply not how the universe worked if Konrad was right.

"Are there not young females under his command?" Asked the being.

"Yes, but they are under his command, his sense of honour forbids him from seducing them since it is an abuse of power. So many nubile young women, so much frustration. Oh yes, glorious." Finished Rob. If it knew that about Angrone, well it probably knew oh so much more.

"And what of Perturabo?" Asked the figure. Rob sidled back and got a glimpse of it, to say it was mysterious would be an understatement. An ethereal kind of figure that seemed outside the bounds of reality, light filtering through, yet the being floated, as if physics only mattered if it wanted it to.

"Posted to a construction company that only ever produces apartment complexes, the same apartment complexes every time." Said Rob, his face split wide. "He will build the same things over and over again. To never be able to express his creativity. He will go crazy in a matter of weeks. Both of them are going to beg me for mercy when this is over." Stated Rob, looking triumphant.

"Very amusing." Said the figure.

"What are you?" Asked Rob, having discovered that only by looking at the figure obliquely could he see it at all. Bringing it into direct vision would just make it disappear.

"I am Envoy, it has been nice meeting you. We will visit again should you prove… entertaining." It said before vanishing altogether.

Rob shook his head, likely not the last time he would be meeting this "Envoy" character.

The Agri World of Ultiser had experienced a very strange year. It had begun when 3 Sojourners had arrived on the world, nothing particularly strange, Sojourners tended to wander around and seeing one was good luck supposedly.

No, what had happened after that was the strange part of the experience. Two of them had accepted a quest from the Planetary Governor, one to train the officer Corps of the Ultiser PDF, or more specifically, to train the excess heirs of the Ultiser system's nobility. The second was to assist in the construction of a new city on Ultiser, more land having made been terraformed into something that would allow them to farm more produce.

Land in this case, being the ocean, with careful planning and cultivation, they had been able to prepare a large part of the ocean for food cultivation. If they were successful, then they would be able to sell fish to visiting trade ships for a hefty fee, allowing the wealth of the system to grow ever so slightly.

The Imperial tithes after all, did not state exactly what kind of foodstuffs they had to make available, only that they had to provide a certain amount of it. The second Sojourner being part of the construction of the new sea city that didn't even have a name yet. This was not strange, Sojourners often took on manual labour quests to "improve their state of mind" or whatever they called it. Providing what was essentially very steady hands and a large bulk of muscle to take care of the particularly annoying and heavy things that were out there.

No. Not strange at all, in fact, it was very standard if not for the fact that the Planetary Governor had personally requested it of them. Still, it was not out of the ordinary, what they were doing was much more important than a farmer's help me till my field quest.

No, the strangeness came after.

It had begun rather innocuously, but by the time anyone noticed, it was too late to stop what had happened.

Angrone stood there, his body straight, his posture one of alertness, of readiness. A challenge to all who saw him, yet also inspiring admiration.

His feet were together, pointed out at an angle of 30 degrees from each other. His head was turned to his left, the corded muscles of his neck standing out in sharp relief to the softness of his throat. His face was implacable, staring down his arm that was slightly bent, his wrist loose as it held the rapier that was pointed forward. His right arm was behind his back, held loosely yet not touching his back.

His body looked as if it were incredibly tense, his posture being one that should have been impossible to hold without a bit of wavering, yet Angrone did so without the smallest quiver. As if he had been carved from ceramite so solid was his posture, so strong was his pose. Imaginations going wild in the audience as they watched him.

It was not helped by the fact that he was wearing some very form fitting clothing, his black leather breeches, a specialty of Ultiser hugged his legs, the muscles protruding the material, giving them a distinct look. One that advertised his strength, his muscle definition. His buttocks were pronounced, little hard buns that looked as if one might be able to bounce a crown off of them, his thighs supporting them, each one looking as defined as other men's biceps.

His waist was thin, his chest that connected to it giving him a distinctive upside down A shape, one where his broad shoulders completed the shape, giving him a shape that was the envy of men the galaxy over. It would be enough the audience was sure to sway even the foul Xeno to becoming humanophiles after glimpsing Angrone in his full glory.

His opponent, while impressive, was not on the same level as Angrone was. If Angrone was not here, he would be considered the best man, in looks, in deportment, in his attitude, yet with Angrone here, he came a distant second.

"Begin!" Came the shout.

And the two of them flashed forward, arms extended, their blades clashing in a brilliant but brief chime. The note hanging in the air before a second joined it, then a third and a fourth. As the two duelists clashed, the blades flashed at a speed unfollowable by human eyes, the two men darting and weaving as they fought, their feet flowing like water downstream. Beautiful to watch, the fight was one that entranced those watching, their eyes drawn to Angrone as they did so. It was inevitable, he was perfect.

Every step he took one one that served to somehow bring out all the muscles in his legs, his chest, and his arms, giving them a sharp and beautiful relief that was simply unmatched. Every jab, every slight swing, every slash of his blade, one that was so perfect that attempting to critique it was impossible.

They were simply unable to even comprehend the perfection, simply knowing that something that transcended simple "sword work" was in front of them. In those that practised the blade it created in them a fire and a zeal to once again delve into the art of the blade, those unfamiliar with the blade were not untouched, an interest being burned deep into their heart of hearts regarding swords. They likely would not touch a sword, but they would know of it and seek it out, to glimpse the perfection that they were watching now.

The fight continued for minutes more, ending with a jab of his rapier at the opponent's throat, ending just before he would have ended the man's life. The two of them froze as he did so, their postures demonstrating the difference between the two of them. One on the defensive, barely able to keep his form together, his posture shattered. The other perfection incarnate, his legs in the perfect posture for a jab, his clothing immaculate, the white fabric of his close fitting shirt not even stained by sweat.

They held the pose for a second more before returning to their starting positions, swords under their arms, bodies fully facing each other. They bowed and turned to the crowd, bowing once again to the deafening cheers of the audience.

It had been an exhibition match between the trainer of the 001st Gladiators. Composed entirely of the spare heirs of the nobility of the Ultiser System, the Gladiators were a… club of sorts. Molded by Angrone, they all followed the same principles that he followed with a passion second only to his own.

They were the ones who sought to pursue perfection in the forms, their every moment dedicated to perfecting their art. Whether that be with rapiers, with swords, with halberds, it did not matter, each was a consummate master having trained under Angrone for 3 years. While they may not know of the more complicated movements, they all had a comprehensive understanding of the basics that would allow them to develop their own movements and techniques over time.

As it was, the 4000 strong Gladiators were departing the system of Ultiser in the following weeks. They would go out into the galaxy, seeking to fight strong opponents, to learn where they failed, to apply their teachings and when they were ready, to take on disciples of their own. In short, they were spreading Angrone's teachings to the galaxy, to fight, to learn, to teach and to love with all the passions they could muster.

It looked for a moment as if this was not possible, that it wasn't going to happen, that Angrone would barely trained the 5000 strong cohort then leave when his time was up. However one noble, the one he had just fought in fact, a Lustre Mctwain had come to him and asked him to teach them. Angrone had replied that he was no teacher, that he was not fit to teach anyone anything.

Mctwain had refused to accept this and for 7 days and 7 nights he had stood before the tent of their erstwhile trainer before he had acceded, accepted that he was going to have to train them or they would continue to nag him. It was then that he stood before them, looked down on them and said the very simple words;

"I will teach you to right not as soldiers but as warriors. Leave now if this is not what you wish."

None of them had left, it was not as if they had any choice, they were here since their parents wanted them out of the family, away from their heirs, unable to plot against them.

It was to these apathetic and hopeless recruits that Angrone did what might have been considered a crime against humanity elsewhere.

He trained them. Not in the pitiful way that the Planetary Defence Forces or even the Imperial Guard trained, no he trained them in the way that a Primarch trained. He broke them and with his skill in medicine had made them whole again. Even while their physical bodies were creaking from the strain he was putting on them, he was remolding their minds, making them into images of himself. If he could not fight and love to his heart's content, then he would at the very least surround himself with those that were of a similar mindset to himself.

And so he did, the 5000 of them dwindling down to 4000 as 1 in five of the died of their wounds received in the training. It was brutal, each day beginning with a grueling slog through the exercise yard, weapons training, mental conditioning, more exercise, barely time for food and sleep in between.

Once the first year was over, their weapon's training began in earnest, Angrone teaching them the basics, dueling them in front of the others so that they might all learn. Not just one, five or ten weapons, but all weapons known to man were trained under him. Even should their niche be a weapon used by a priest from five millennia previously, it would discovered and they would learn to fight as Angrone deemed they should.

It did not matter that there were women in the Gladiators, they would fight and love just as well as the men did, even more as they would be able to bear children, their progeny able to carry on their legacy.

And so it was that the Gladiators were made into the spitting image of Angrone himself. They would be far above an average human, or even an average Imperial Guardsman when it came to fighting, their own abilities approaching that of the Venerable Astartes. Indeed with Angrone training them, it would not be impossible for them to hold their own against an Astartes, if only for a few minutes.

The Gladiators would leave and they would spread throughout the galaxy, no doubt establishing their own Gladiator schools in which they would teach aspirants of the Angrone style. Each would be teaching a substyle of course, none of them able to approach Angrone's mastery of all weapons that ever existed to be wielded by two hands. It was not possible.

Some would join Imperial Guard divisions on the frontline, seeking to challenge the champions of the enemy, finding themselves right at home on the battlefield. A subsect of Imperial Guardsmen following the Angrone tradition, seeking to learn the art of the weapon. Their officers sent to notable schools to learn how to wield their power/chainswords properly.

Others still would journey through the stars, never setting down roots but wandering, their legends only overshadowed by that of the Venerable Astartes themselves. These would join Rogue Traders on occasion, seeking to test themselves on the greatest and newest of the enemies of man.

And an even smaller number would find themselves the objects of attention of the Black Templar, either having challenged their champions or having challenged an enemy that the Black Templar champion was planning to do so himself. Once they proved themselves, they would join the Black Templars as honorary members, teaching the way of Angrone to those interested. One could always improve with a blade, after all, it was an infinite art for the true student.

And so it was that the Angrone Style would be spread through the galaxy, much to the confusion of Rob and the system of Ultiser itself, having just had 4000 of their PDF officers disappear on the trade ships sending them through the galaxy. It was not what they had expected to happen at all.

For the Ultiser System, the second thing that had proven itself strange was the Senti Company, the very same company that the Sojourner Perturabo had been seconded to.

It had been expected that he would merely do something along the lines of what so many other Sojourners were doing in the first place, of working in a manual labour kind of job and learning how to better become close to the peoples of the Imperium. It was standard practise now, like a summer job where the Space Marine would come, provide assistance with their prodigious strength and then leave at a later date.

Perturabo had changed all of this, his anger that the inefficiencies of the Senti Corporation causing him to take it over in all but name. His frustration regarding his inability to indulge in his more exotic designs causing him to take it all out on the poor people of the corporation themselves.

From the lowest worker to the most expensive piece of equipment, Perturabo had something to say, him going to work on simply redesigning the protocols which they used, to rehauling the machinery to becoming more efficient, the machine spirit be damned.

It had been rather innocuous to start, a few workers here and there educated on properly carry rhythms, and maybe a hauler here and there with an updated rune interface.

It had then escalated until Perturabo was building them entirely new systems with which to build the new city on the water, a city that would hover, using anti-gravitic technology that had been scaled up to absurd levels. It had shocked the Adeptus Mechanicus Adepts that were on world enough that a Fabricator General had arrived, thinking that an ancient relic had been discovered. To find Perturabo at the center of it all, well that was something that was shocking in the extreme.

It had taken Rob, the third Sojourner and a private meeting with the Fabricator General for him to approve the design, leaving a few Adepts behind to work with the Perturabo to ensure he didn't commit technological heresy of course. That visit would be the talk of the system for centuries, something like that hadn't happened since the Adeptus Mechanicus terraformed the planet, but none of their ancestors had been around for that.

Regardless here they were now, an entire city that was hovering over the water, large nets hung underneath it for maximum efficiency in cultivating fish stocks. Fish stocks that had been created by Perturabo with the assistance of a Bio Magus, because apparently having one skill was too little for the Space Marine. They were the "perfect fish", easy to eat, delicious, firm, fast growing, efficient in nutrient to flesh conversion, the perfect trading fish.

Perturabo was not content to stop there, however, redesigning the social policies of the city named Atlantis by Perturabo himself. The city would be the perfect city, everything designed to accommodate for human flaws. If you were not perfect, the city would make you so. New vehicles, new public transport, new everything. The Space Marine was not content to sit down and do nothing, constantly designing, constantly working, constantly on the move. The rather gaunt figure of the Space Marine only becoming more so as he never stopped. It had taken Rob knocking him out for him to finally get some sleep, drinking that much recaf, even for a Space Marine must have been unhealthy.

And so the city of Atlantis was build, under budget and on time, following the schedule laid out by Perturabo perfectly. He had not been happy, apparently, the designs were boring and he felt stifled while inside. There was nothing they could do but shrug at that, however, Perturabo's peculiarities especially when regarding architecture were well known at this point.

He didn't stop at Atlantis, stretching the corporation into the entire system, fixing old buildings, demolishing and replacing dilapidated structures, building new towns and cities as needed. All of it doing nothing but spreading the name of Senti further. Even when his term of service was meant to be at an end, Perturabo was still at the helm of the Corporation, already making plans to expand it further, out into the next system, making it a galactic name.

When he was done, the entire galaxy would know of the name Senti, when they thought of construction, they would think "Senti". The vast power of the Senti corporation was such that it was even contracted to build works on Terra, the very heart to the Imperium itself while the Mechanicus sent Adepts to learn the ways of the Ferrocrete and the Ceramite, their brightest minds going on to build works that would rival Terra's buildings and artwork in both size and grandeur. Perturabo's legacy would continue in such a manner that not even he envisioned, what had been irritation, a need to build more efficiently a need to improve had expanded so far.

If he was doomed to building boring and staid buildings, he would at the very least make them well made boring and staid buildings. There would be no cutting corners on his watch, every building under the name Senti would be as close to structurally perfect as possible.

But of course he was Perturabo and he was not satisfied with that. His thoughts turned instead to not just construction, but building in general. If he was going to be building, why not build ships, cars, and tanks? In a meeting with a nearby mining world about their export of steel, Perturabo convinced the Planetary Governor to accept a partnership deal.

The Senti Corporation would build ships, cars, and more using his steel. The only thing the governor needed to do was sell the steel at a fair price.

What had come about as a result was yet another branch to add onto Senti, the small luxury frigate designs proving to be extremely popular with the Imperial Nobility, its design being close enough to other Imperial designs that it would not be considered "fire on sight", yet different enough to distinguish exactly who was on the frigate.

The cars, the luxury goods, all of them sold and not just to the nobility. The middle class wanted them as well, a way to make them feel more high class than they actually were. Perturabo had tapped into a market that many didn't even know existed and made profits well within his calculations, beyond imagination for any other organic.

Everything was going perfectly for Perturabo but he felt another episode coming. One that might very well damn his image in the Corporation permanently (it wouldn't, they were used to his strangeness), and he needed a way to get back to Ultramar before it hit in force.

Rob had been singularly unhelpful in this regard, taking far too much joy in his suffering. His statement of "just let go" being too foolish to even dignify with an answer. Still, that was something for another day.

The Senti Corporation was expanding into the Imperium proper, it having the ability to deliver on almost any promise it made, no matter how absurd.

Rob had not been doing nothing however.

The Primarch had been doing his work behind the scenes, working on creation of what appeared to be a vast network of contacts. Not spies, but rather contacts that he personally met and conversed with. They would not be giving him confidential information of course, rather it was gossip, his natural ability to present himself as friendly, as an ally having made him extremely proficient in the realm of political warfare.

With his sharp mind, one capable of analyzing thousands of threads of information at the same time, consolidating the gossip and tidbits he was hearing, decoding their meaning and working out the truth, was child's play. For someone such as him, Ultiser was more of a warmup, a means to see if it was capable for him to cultivate a personal informant service of sorts, and a test as to how long it would take exactly.

He thrived on information, of being able to prod in just the right manner and have an entire structure, artificial or natural come crashing down. That and meddling with his brothers, often the two being one and the same.

Ultiser had outlived its usefulness, they would now be proceeding back to Ultramar, report the results of their test excursion before heading off to pick up another Brother. Perhaps Rogal Dorn the Second or perhaps Konrad. The Emperor knew that the second one needed to get outside more, locking himself in his room all for the sake of his "art". Like Perturabo but more disturbing.

As for his two brothers here on Ultiser, his original plan to have them suffer by assigning them work in the area most likely to stifle them had been a resounding failure. Rob was not to this day, sure why it was that Perturabo decided to simply take over the Corporation, remodeling it in his image and making it into a powerhouse of industry. That just made no sense, the Primarch hated the boring and staid things.

What was even stranger was Angrone turning 5000 PDF officer potentials into copies of himself and letting them loose on the galaxy. That had been a miscalculation on Rob's part and when the Emperor woke again, he hoped that the man would be able to find forgiveness in his heart for Rob's actions. How was he to know that would be Angrone's reaction to being denied women for that long?

Why couldn't they just be like him, having little impermanent effects on the galaxy?

Speaking of.

Rob made sure to depart on good terms, who knew when he would be back, it would be best to keep things amicable just in case.

"You are saying that there is now thousands of men and women like… Angrone who are diffusing throughout the Imperium?" Asked Roboute, his hand massaging his face as he heard the report from Rob, the other 2 having disappeared after landing on Ultramar again for the first time in 3 years.

"Yes Brother, that is what I am saying," Rob replied, he had thought his brother would not need to ask redundant questions, that was such a… mundane thing to do.

"Ok… why?"

"Because I thought that having a regiment to train would temper Angrone, I had no idea that it would be the other way around." He said, fudging the exact details a little. His brother had no need to know that it was because Rob was feeling a little vindictive.

"Is there any way to stop this spread?" Roboute asked, his face split into a scowl and a hopeful expression, as if Rob had a way out of this.

"No Brother, not unless you are prepared to send hunter killer teams after them." He said.

Roboute's face said that he was tempted, very tempted but he would refrain… for now. "No. No, we can't waste Imperial resources like that. Ok, just… try to mitigate them or something." Roboute said, out of ideas.

"Yes, Brother." Smirked Rob, well it was annoying the wrong brother, but this was ok as well, his stress was cathartic.

"And Perturabo is now the head of a Corporation that is if I am reading this correctly, building; cities, structures, civilian vehicles, civilian luxury ships, civilian commodities, civilian luxuries, and more?" Roboute asked, the data-slate by his side rapidly scrolling down the page.

"Yes. I had hoped that placing him in a construction company, it would help him work over his issues regarding his hatred of things normal and stable and perhaps push him away from his tendencies regarding design." Rob said, again fudging the truth a little. He was trying to help his brother… sure.

"At the very least this Senti Corporation does not inspire in me as much dread as the idea of mortal Angrones running around the Imperium. It is interesting, a way to keep him occupied and to help rehabilitate him to accept the rest of the Imperium." Said Roboute, nodding in approval as to what Perturabo had done.

"Wait. What is this about a Fabricator General? Why was a Fabricator General there. Wait. Why is Perturabo building city sized anti gravity devices? Why is he building a city? What happened Rob?" Roboute asked, his face becoming more disbelieving with everything he read out.

"Well you see, Perturabo thought that building a city that floated above the water was more efficient that one on the water. After that… well, it sort of escalated from there." Rob said, shrugging in the face of Roboute's shock.

Heh, this was fun.

Magnus and Rogal Dorn were sitting down for their usual cup of tea. Or rather in Magnus' case a cup of herbal tea that had no caffeine while Rogal drank water. He was simply too worried of any effects on his body to drink anything that might have caffeine, while Magnus was worried about the same, only his role involved trying to locate the many different shards of the Emperor's soul that had made their way into the wild and needed to be corralled inward.

It was made easier by the fact that most of the shards, the major ones at any rate, were located very near to Terra itself in terms of the Warp. Which in turn made it easier for Magnus to track them down and drag them back to his father. The smaller ones behaved like they had mass, being dragged towards the larger pieces, or in this case towards the Emperor himself if they were close enough to overcome the draw of the larger pieces.

As it was, the smaller pieces being drawn in told Magnus where the bigger pieces were, which certainly made it easier to track them down, if a little tedious. A thousand years and he had barely made a dent in the overall workload. At least his clone was like him in terms of interest and psykic potential, both of them working together certainly made things so very much easier as they could combine their powers to spread the search radius as well as things like influence the shards themselves.

Things were many times easier for Magnus but it would still be a few thousand years before the Emperor was pulled back together into a coherent state. While he was certainly strong enough now, it was only the thoughts of a single shard and not the full Emperor that was conversing with them. Which was a good thing since if the sardonic and sarcastic Emperor was their only option, he might have decided to pull life support long ago. Both he and his clone could sit on the Throne instead.

As it was, the more shards they pulled in and integrated with, the Throne Emperor's [as he had taken to calling him, personality changed depending on what the shard was. They were generally divided on their general characteristics, some of them were very happy, others were extremely angry, others still were extraordinarily focused on small things such as chainswords, fire, the colour gold.

It certainly made for a very interesting few conversations when the Emperor was lucid enough to actually converse with them. He shuddered to think about what would have happened if he was not here to assist, the Throne Emperor would have only managed to pull in the closest shards, which were all very sardonic and angry ones. In several thousand years, there would be a very angry, sentient and annoyed Emperor on the throne. Something that Magnus was trying to avoid as it was, if one were to come about by accident, it would be nothing but humour on the worst level.

As for Junior Magnus, he was doing great work. The fact that both of them shared interests in reading, it certainly made things easier when it came to recommending him books to occupy his time. He had emerged from the Pillar of Penitence extremely well read and in possession of a well rounded education. The problem being that he had been neglected in the realm of fiction and magic, something Magnus aimed to rectify.

Something had been nagging at Magnus however. Several somethings in fact. First was the fact that Magnus Junior had not left Terra since he had first stepped foot off the Pillar of Penitence, in fact he spent a large majority of his time inside the library of the Imperial palace. A place that was very much impossibly huge, every single new work was required by Imperial Law to have a copy sent directly to the Imperial Palace, which meant all the fiction that one could ever want. The Library itself took up half the continent that the Imperial Palace was sitting upon, digging down deep for several kilometers into the earth. The greatest Library in the galaxy, yet also a trap that Magnus junior had not been able to escape from.

Magnus Senior was currently attempting to work out a manner in which he could send Magnus Junior out into the galaxy, the younger Primarch needed worldly experience, after he accumulated some, he could just come back to the Library if that is what he wished. So long as he knew of the possibilities that lay outside the confines of Terra.

As for Rogal Dorn he was facing a similar problem that he was mulling over during tea. He had 3 times the responsibility that Magnus did, having his own Junior clone Rogal Dorn the Second, Fulgrim and Ferrus to take care of. Exactly what he wanted to have them do was unknown, the 3 of them were almost inseparable and Rogal Snr wasn't sure what he wanted done.

So simply send them outside Terra with a one way ticket would be the preferred option, but the question became as to where to send them. The 3 of them were quite distinctive and they would attract attention no matter where they went. However, sending them to a civilized world had different implications than sending them to a feudal world, a death world, or even an Agri World.

What he should do to ensure the best education for his charges was something that he had been grappling with for quite some time now. He did not go so far as to sight, but his hand maybe have been slightly less disciplined as he sipped at the glass of water, cutting apart the eggs of his full "continental" breakfast served by the very helpful Custodes. They were not happy if anyone went into the kitchens, not even the Primarchs themselves.

Magnus opposite him had already finished his breakfast, a tradition with him. The more time eating was the less time someone could spend with books. As to what to do regarding the Junior Primarchs, it still occupied their thoughts.

Both of their musings was interrupted by the arrival of Dawson, the Caretaker representative on Terra itself. Or rather the floating fortress above Terra, placed quite politely on the opposite side of the planet that the Imperial Palace resided. She was a regular here, always coming down because "the continental breakfast is to die for" or something to that effect. The Caretaker being several thousand years old at this point made her something of an anomaly, a rare sparring partner for the Custodes as well as the Primarchs themselves should they feel the urge to sweat a little. Her unnatural ability when it came to the wide variety of weaponry that was her arsenal making her deadly in all but the most long ranged of scenarios.

"Good morning." She said, as cheerful as always.

"It is indeed a good morning Captain Dawson. I am pleased to see you." Said Rogal, regally inclining his head in her direction.

On Magnus' part there was a grunt and a nodding of the head, a sure sign he was thinking too much.

"Well now, have you heard the news?" She asked, placing her own tray down on the table for her breakfast. The Captain was not wearing armour, but if the stories regarding the Caretakers and Sojourners was true, she didn't need it anyway.

"There has been much news as of late Captain Dawson. I haven't heard all of it as of yet no. I have been reading the news however and it has been very useful in formulating reports for later use." Said Rogal, sipping from the water.

"Have you heard the news of Roboute Guilliman's Wards?" Continued Dawson, used to Rogal's hyper-literal manner of interpreting the world around him.

"No, I have not heard of any recent news regarding Primarch Guilliman's wards." He said.

"Well, they've been sent as Sojourners to explore the universe, they have to spend 10 years travelling before they can come back." Said Dawson, grinning at the idea of a blue Ultramarine covered in the colours of the Sojourner, black, teal and purple.

"As far as I have heard, they are currently on an Agri World system, where they are learning how to interact with people. Or something. It's been going on for a few years now and Angrone has created a new school of combat arts. Perturabo has created a vast conglomerate of construction companies, Roboute has done something regarding the nobles and they all seem to be having a great amount of fun." Dawson continued. Devouring the meal laid out in front of her.

"That is… something to consider." Magnus contemplated. If he sent out Magnus Jnr out into the galaxy, perhaps he would be able to learn to deal with people on his own. It would be particularly difficult for someone that was 15 feet tall, and bright red, but he could use his abilities to fashion an illusion to hide himself away.

As to where he could dispatch Magnus Jnr to, it was a question that had to be considered first. Magnus Snr considered the problem, dispatching him to a planet that was currently in conflict was out of the question. If he was sent out to fight, it would expose him immediately which would do nothing to teach him what he needed to know about interacting with people as equals instead from a position of authority.

An Agri-World was a consideration but the lack of intellectual stimulus might be too much for Magnus Jnr and result in him resenting his assignment. Perhaps a civilized world then. Not so insular and terrified as a Hive world, not so backward as an Agri World. It would be like the D adventures the both of them occasionally played together, only he would be going alone.

It was a little sad, but since both of them were extremely powerful psykers, it would be a simple matter to keep in touch.

As for Dorn he was considering doing the same. Dispatching the three of them off somewhere. It would have to be a world that was not under Imperial Fist influence, nor could it be a world that was one that could be conquered by the three of them. Perhaps a Hive World would be the best option.

As the two Senior Primarchs contemplated their options, Dawson hummed happily. She had completed her quest and would be getting the XPs from this. Why it was her that had to do it, she didn't know, but XP was XP and she wasn't going to turn her nose up at it. It was hard enough trying to find enemies to kill to level up while over Terra in her perfectly safe space fortress. All she had was the occasional Inquisitorial assassin that was sent to try and kill her, it was extremely depressing now that she thought about it.

Dawson sighed briefly before turning back to the scrambled eggs, they were very good indeed. Perfectly made with very small curds, someone spent quite a bit of effort in making this she could tell.

Compliments to the chef.

As the two Primarchs got to their feet, giving her a nod as they did so, Dawson absently gave a nod back. It looked like it was phase 2 of her mission.

The quest text stood out before her, flashing brightly.

Find the recipe for the perfect scrambled eggs

Dawson nodded to herself, this was a quest that she could get behind. As she climbed out of the room, she wondered why it was the Power Armour was so damned loud. It was going to make the stealth approach that much more difficult. She always did suck when it came to the diplomatic options.

Magnus Jnr sat inside one of the alcoves that ran underneath the gargantuan bookshelves of the Palace of Terra's Library. It was here that he was studying exactly how one made a Lasgun in the first place, it was very interesting in lieu of anything else to read. With dedication and several hundred years, he had read through nearly half of the books inside the library. An impressive feat to be sure, it was merely that he had nothing to test his knowledge on which was proving to be something of a… distraction.

He checked the time on his Chronometer, muttering as he did so. It was time for the daily "find the millions of little pieces of our father's soul" again.

He wondered what exactly the future held in store for him, it couldn't be all this boring could it?

Magnus Junior, or Magnar as he was now calling himself sat in the bridge of his ship. It was a nice ship. A Cruiser that he had "liberated" from the pirates that thought it would be a good idea to attack him.

Well, not him specifically, but rather the ship that he was currently residing inside for his journey to whatever the destination that Magnus had picked for him to go out and "learn" or whatever it was that he meant to be doing. The ship itself was a passenger liner, one that was rated to carry 100,000 people, build in the year of 31.690 to take advantage of the Warp Lanes that ran between the Beacon Worlds.

Without the threat of the ships themselves going missing in the Warp due to the manner in which they travelled, along a safe current in the Warp, it was also on a public lane that had constant patrols by the Imperial Navy. There would be no attempts to attack them unless the people were particularly stupid.

Which unfortunately for the attackers, meant that they were very much in the stupid category. A Cruiser, of a class he didn't know had decided to try and waylay the passenger liner as it surfaced from a jump for a stop at a recuperation satellite. Artificial planetoids that dotted the Warp Lanes, that each carried quite a few different kinds of amenities for the passengers that might wish to partake in something new. A partnership with the passenger liner charters, meant that each of them was very much a lucrative business as both the ships and the stopping zones agreed to carry certain goods to encourage the spending of thrones.

It was here that the Cruiser had dropped out of the Warp and sent an open hail across the communications lines. Something that Magnar had thought that people no longer did, since it was so ridiculous in the first place. Seriously, who came along and started shouting out "depower your engines and standby for boarding" anymore unless they really wanted to give the other ship time to flee? It was the Warp, one simply could not fight inside of the Warp unless they wanted to open themselves up to the Warp itself.

The passenger liner had simply dropped into the Warp to escape the Cruiser, leaving a few passengers stranded, Magnar included. It had been annoying but for Magnar it offered an opportunity. He was a studious little lad and this was a chance to expand his studies with practical experience. He would feel that practicals touching him as he stood.

He had read about pirates, of course, his studies in that area had been of particular depth. Sadly he had never seen one before and this was a prime opportunity for him to see some Pirates first hand and maybe even communicate with them. It would be such great fun he was sure.

As for the other passengers, another liner would be along later to pick them up, pirate attacks were part of the commonly accepted dangers of travel of course and all charters had their own contingencies to deal with them. Magnar didn't care really, they were human, there were several quadrillion more where they came from. Well not literally, the women would die long before they gave birth to that many bodies, but the idea was the same.

Magnar stepped through the Warp directly into the ship itself, the Bridge being a very obvious target for his jump. You would have to be an idiot of an extreme magnitude to miss a warp-walk that easy. Which Magnar wasn't. He was a genius, he had even made it past 100 on the ancient "IQ" test he had found locked away.

"You! What are you doing here!" Came the shout, the man that was obviously the captain had stood up and pointed at him. Or at least Magnar hoped he was the captain, the man was certainly sitting in the biggest chair, and in the middle of the room. He was also wearing what looked like a very dashing tricorn hat.

"I am Magnus the Junior, I would like to ask you questions about being a pirate if you do not object." Magnar had said, trying to be as cordial as possible. He did not want to antagonise the ones he was about to be questioning after all. According to the studies, doing so would just make them give answers that were very much unacceptable in an academic sense, either lying or not telling the full truth.

"What the frak? Look at this fucker! Boys! Shoot his ass!" Shouted the captain, sounding a little shrill now that he thought about it. Captains shouldn't sound like this, that wasn't how a pirate lord should sound. Magnar had been depressed at that, his hopes and dreams were falling all around him.

Still, they were going to shoot him and even though he was a Primarch, he was currently without armour and he would… oh. Those were stubbers. Ok. He took back his worry. Those weren't going to hurt him. He felt a little stupid for worrying so much, no doubt his other brothers would have noticed the stubbers immediately and dealt with them already.

He really should work on his enemy acquisition skills, he was a Primarch after all and the body was just another muscle that needed to be exercised, just like the brain was.

As for the enemy, well he clicked his fingers. A Warp Portal popped into existence underneath him and the captain fell through. Or was sucked through. Magnar wasn't sure as to what happened exactly, but he was gone and that was all he needed to know. He had closed it just before the hat had gone through of course, how else was he going to get to wear an authentic one.

He grinned widely and walked over to the thing, picking it up and grinning even wider. Oh yes. This was how things should be. Putting it on his head, Magnar turned to regard the bridge crew who were staring at him in turn. Why was that… oh wait.

Magnar had forgotten to keep the illusion and had revealed himself to the bridge crew. It was kind of obvious now since his head had slammed into the ceiling of the Bridge, the pain telling him that he was back to 15 feet tall.

Woops.

The excitement had been too much obviously and now here he was, exposed in his red and gigantic glory. Well.. this was certainly something that needed fixing. Focusing, he used his powers to shrink himself some, they knew he was red, but if he made himself a little shorter, he should be less threatening. That was the hope at any rate.

Studies had shown that people were very much afraid of those that were different to themselves and there hadn't been any maroon humans that had suddenly jumped onto their ship before. Grunting a little from the exertion, he had dropped down to a normal 8 feet tall, that should be enough to assure them that he wasn't going to be eating them or something.

They were normal humans so he wasn't exactly sure how they thought, they were so primitively slow that it was difficult to relate to them. Oh well, he could always read their minds if he really wanted to. Not that he did mind you, sometimes when he had been bored on Terra, he had reached out and touched the minds of Imperial citizens, and they had been singularly disappointing. Thoughts of fornication, food, money, more fornication, the bathroom, eating, even more fornication.

Ugh.

It was enough to put a Primarch off humans forever.

Still, the crew had been rather quiet, he hoped that he hadn't scared them. He just needed the captain gone so the others wouldn't have any orders to follow. It should have made it so that he could question the rest of the crew in peace. Only if they were afraid, that was going to be very difficult.

Magnar had been about to just Warp-walk back to the planetoid, dejected by his failure when one of the crew had shouted, "Hail the new Captain!".

He had been rather confused about that before remembering that some pirates worked by older codes which said that if you killed the captain, you could take his or her place as the head of a ship. Which was what had clearly happened her, which was certainly interesting in an of itself.

Magnar decided to humour the crew and sit down in the chair that the former-captain had so recently vacated and found to his shock that it fit him perfectly. Not in a literal sense, he was 8 feet tall and the previous captain had been barely 6 if that. No, what fit was the feeling of being in the Captain's chair. It was a feeling that told him that this was what he was to be in life, this was what he was destined for.

Magnar had decided then and there that he would be calling himself Magnar from that point forward, a point of distinction from himself and his brother. One of them would be seeking knowledge in the libraries, the other would be writing the books that went into those libraries.

"I am Magnar. I am your Captain I suppose. Any questions?" He asked, looking at them. That was good, right? He hadn't really talked to normal people before, he hoped that he hadn't scared them away.

"Umm. Yes. The Bridge greets the Captain." Said the same one that had called him the Captain. Magnar would need to reward the man, he was displaying initiative beyond his station which was always nice.

And that had settled that. A few of them had tried to attack him or something but Magnar had sent them all to the Warp. The attacks had stopped when he explained where he was sending their crewmates, they had been very scared of Magnar after that. He wasn't sure why, however, it was just the Warp, it wasn't like there was anything to be scared of unless you were inside it.

Sure there were daemons and the like, but all you needed to do was give them a slap every now and again to remind them who was boss and it was smooth sailing from there. Oh well, they were just normal humans, they probably couldn't comprehend the Warp as it was.

Magnar also wasn't sure as to what to do with the women inside the Captain's cabin. They had been very helpful once he explained that he was the new captain, and they had said they belonged to the captain. Magnar wasn't too sure about the whole slavery angle until they said that it was quite a voluntary agreement. It was a little weird but Magnar accepted it, people certainly were weird were they not?

Still, he had lost his virginity that night, it had been a little touch and go since he was so much more powerful than they were. He was a Primarch after all. He didn't even know he had a virginity, and it was rather strange to lose something that you never knew you had in the first place.

After he had laid down in the bed and felt the other inhabitants of the bed island fall asleep, he linked to Magnus. This far away he could assist in the collection of Shards that were outside of their usual range on Terra which was certainly helpful. It was also a means for the two brothers to keep in contact and once he had explained what had happened, he enjoyed Magnus' jealously immensely, something about Magnus still being a virgin, they had gotten down to discussing as to what would happen from this point forward.

Magnar had put forward the idea that he would become a Rogue Trader, travelling to the outskirts of the galaxy to gather more information, find more Emperor Shards, and to explore the unknown. He would of course, share the experiences so that his brother locked to Terra and assisting their father could feel whatever it was that Magnar felt, as if it was his own body doing the actions.

A good compromise and one that would allow for Magnar to live out his destiny. He would just need to bring the ship back to Terra, to get a Rogue Trader Charter from the High Lords, outfit a better crew and go from there.

It was his destiny from that point forward and he was holding it in both hands now.

Ted Anderson crouched down and presented as low a target profile as possible. As had been drilled into him by 10 years of sporadic war and constant raids from the South Americas, Ted made sure that there was no way that any peacekeepers would be able to mistake him for an enemy combatant.

The South American raiders generally wore their uniforms and usually just attacked government and military installations, but in all honestly the chances of them going through a civilian target to reach those points wasn't low. And if the chance wasn't low, it wasn't 0. Then again the chance of danger being 0 had not been the case in so long that Ted was kind of inoculated to the danger.

As long as the alert that there was a raid underway didn't go away, Ted wasn't going to be doing something stupid like trying to play hero. He'd seen what happened to people that tried to play hero, they usually ended up dead. The local government even put out a warning that if the raiders came across them, to lie down on the ground and not present a target. If you did that, they would ignore you and keep going. Ted had even had to clean up a few bodies in his time with the service, a little bit of de-greaser to help move the fat, a little bit of elbow grease and the burnt bodies move just like new!

They would not be breaking into homes or trying to destroy private property; if you were indoors then just stay indoors, if you were outside, try and find somewhere you can be indoors, even if you have to barge into someone's home. Being outside while a raid was in progress was extremely dangerous since you could be caught in the crossfire between response forces and the raiders themselves, the raiders would not distinguish between civilians and soldiers. For that matter, the response forces were unlikely to distinguish between civilians as well since they were disobeying the law.

If there was gunfire outside, then everyone was to lie prone on the floor, preferably underneath a table of some kind to protect from falling debris. Glass was especially dangerous and had to be watched out for since it could cause particularly deep cuts. Making sure that you were low ensured your profile was small enough that chances of you being hit decreased accordingly.

Ted was currently inside the house of a woman that he had never met before. When the alarm had gone off, he had walked to the nearest house and knocked on the door, asking for shelter. It was the law that people had to accept those that asked for shelter during the raids and he was let in with little fuss.

The woman on the other side was particularly attractive and Ted felt a little glad that he had chosen this house in particular. At the same time he felt a little bad, it was bad manners to hit on those that let you seek refuge in their homes.

Ted sat on the chair beside the door, one that was set up for people that came seeking refuge during a Raider Alarm. While it had started out as a thing that only houses with street access made available, it had sort of proliferated throughout society, Refuge Chairs they were called. Comfortable but not too comfortable, you didn't want the refugee staying permanently after all.

He did an 8th check of his purchases, the little trip to the local mall the reason he was here in the first place. He had to buy a new protection mask, or as the locals liked to say, gas mask. His old one was not longer fully certified after 3 years of storage and he really liked the new models that let him wear his glasses while he had them on.

It was essential that everyone in society had a protection mask, the response forces tended to use tear gas as a way of trying to trap the Raiders, force them out into the open and make it so it was harder for them to aim. That meant that the civilians still in the area would be affected by the fumes and so everyone who lived in a coastal city in the US had one.

"Oh. Is that a Steele Mk 8?" Came the voice above him. Ted looked up and the woman was there, he had forgotten to ask her name.

"Uh. Um. Oh yes. It's a Steele, I had to get it after my old one was no longer accredited you know?" Ted blurted out, blushing a little as he did so. He hadn't meant to overwhelm her.

Thankfully she just giggled a little and smiled at him. "I came out here to ask if you wanted any refreshments, we have a few teas and beers." She said.

"Oh. Um. Sure, I would like that. Water, please. Thank you. No, wait, thank you after. Sorry." Ted mumbled a bit at the end, his voice trailing off.

Her laughter filled his ears, "don't be so tense, I don't bite." She led him deeper into the house, it was a simple one, long hallway with rooms branching off to the sides, likely bedrooms and the like. Had stairs too at one point, spiral stairs, ugh. The student architect in him looked upon them with revulsion and horror.

"Here you go." She said, placing a glass of water in front of him. She had led him to the kitchen and motioned for him to sit on the counter while she got him a glass.

"So I'm Robin, what's your name?" She was leaning her head on her fingers, forearms in an A underneath her chin.

"I'm Ted, sorry for barging in on you like this."

"It's no big deal, stop worrying so much."

"Ummm…" Ted wasn't sure what he was meant to do here. He wasn't very good when it came down to interacting with other people. He could shout ideas, but he couldn't talk them.

"So. tell me about yourself," Robin said, looking as if she was actually interested in what he had to say.

"Ummm. So after the "No man left behind" act was passed, I was conscripted into the army as an engineer. Straight out of high school, they taught me everything I needed to know and paid for schooling too. After my 5 years on top of the 3 I spent in college, I went into civilian contracting… and here I am now." Ted said, a little embarrassed that he had so little to talk about.

"Oooh. That must have been interesting. I joined as a nurse, wasn't my thing really. Became a radio announcer instead. After I got out, I picked up a gig here in Boston and I've never left, came from New York originally." She said, smiling at him as she did so.

"Where were you stationed?" She continued, still acting like he was interesting.

"Oh. Ummm. Los Angeles." He said, blinking at the suddenness of the question.

"Wait, were you there at the Hollywood burning?" She shot out, leaning toward him, face uncomfortably close to his own.

"Yea, it was pretty bad for a while but the Raiders ignore civilians so at least that wasn't something we had to deal with. Can you imagine having to build temporary housing for that many people? They just ignored everyone which was good, but since they weren't shooting civilians, they were shooting at us. Lost a few good friends out there." He said, face a little slack as he felt himself being transported back in his memories.

It hadn't been a good day, in fact, it had been a very bad day. Hundreds of soldiers and support personnel killed in what had been the largest Raider attack in their history, over 300 of them inserting via several different submarines. Ultimately the goal had been apparently to burn down the HOLLYWOOD sign, why he didn't know, maybe a propaganda victory? The burning had been in all the newspapers that was for sure.

"Well, I heard that they ignore the civilians so that our Raiders going south avoid their civilians. If they keep it just between soldiers then there are less collateral casualties. It's like this big game the two of us play." Robin said, her voice lowered, as if she was sharing some sensitive information with him.

"Well the ones up top play with each other, but it's us grunts on the ground that have to deal with the bullets and the dying." Ted sounded bitter, and he was. Too many lives lost in the 5 years that he had served. As an engineer, his skills were in constant demand to repair damaged and destroyed structures. Only that meant the structures were vulnerable, which meant that they were prime targets for a follow up strike.

Often the ones he had spent the day chatting with, would be the ones putting their lives on the line to defend the facilities. Sometimes they would even die and there was so very little he could do about it. He could shoot straight, but he was an engineer, not a soldier.

"Well, it's over now right?" Robin asked, putting a hand on his arm, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Well, I'm still a reservist. If we get invaded then I'm heading back out." Ted replied, avoiding her gaze.

"Is there anyone our age who isn't a reservist?" Robin asked, her voice filled with mirth.

"Well no… at least I don't think there are any."

"Well, there you go. If we get invaded we're all going out." Robin grinned at him.

There was a little pause as the both of them got rather absorbed in their own thoughts, Ted about what would be happening if he was sent back out. Laying booby traps ahead of the enemy advance, demolishing key structures to deny information, blowing up bridges, years of work and billions of dollars gone.

And when it was over, if he was still alive, he would be rebuilding all of it again. Just a pointless back and forth. He wouldn't have any real choice either, democracy had been "temporarily" suspended in the wake of Russia's denunciation of them and the "vacationers" that raided their West Coast. Combined with raids on the East Coast by the South American Federation, the US was effectively under siege.

While they could still bring supplies in and out, military installations were prime targets. Placing a civilian area next to a military one was a very good way to get collateral damage.

Ted wasn't sure when things would get back to normal, or even if he could function in a pre-war society. He had always been a very introspective person and his diary had been his outlet to express his private self, the self hidden from the public eye.

Only now… he had changed. Living for years in this society, one that had a veneer of similarity to what he was used to, but one that had changed on some fundamental level. He found that by rereading his diary, he could track just when his thought processes had begun to change.

He wasn't really an individual anymore, he had become part of the system. He wasn't expressing himself as an individual that was independent of the system, but rather was expressing himself as a cog inside of the system. He was very much avoiding any attempts at categorizing himself as separate, the knowledge that he could destroy his own positive self image an ever present threat.

He was part of the American system now, he had internalized the rules, the language. It was unlikely that he would ever leave. It was a disquieting feeling, knowing that his individuality as a person had been subsumed into the whole. But it was also liberating, to know that he was now part of something greater.

"Hey Ted, you free tomorrow?" Robin asked, jerking him out of his thoughts.

"Ummm. Sure. I don't have anything planned." He replied. Was she asking him out?

"Cool, do you want to go shopping?"

"Is this a… date?"

"Eh not quite, think of it as a pre-date. Check out if we're compatible first you know. Outside of a high stress environment."

"Oh right… the alarm I'd forgotten about that."

She grinned at him again and Ted felt his rationality melt away again. It was a rather… pleasant experience now that he thought about it. When he could think about it.

"Ummm. Ok." Was all he could muster.

"Oh, and do you have any friends? We can make it a pre-date double date with my roommate." Robin said.

"Ummm. Sure, I'll tell Marshall."

Ted was walking alongside Robin and her roommate Lily, his own roommate Marshall was walking alongside Lily. They had surprisingly hit it off rather well, surprisingly well actually. He wasn't sure that he had ever seen Marshall this talkative.

As they neared the shopping center, the quartet lined themselves up single-file. The shopping center contained quite a few things that were possibly dangerous in the right hands and care was taken to make sure that everyone who went in was who they said they were and were also not carrying weaponry.

While the US still allowed its citizens to carry weapons in public, they were prohibited from doing so inside areas of interest, shopping centers and military bases being in that category. Ted led the group in, his hands in the air as he walked into a booth that was free. His hands clamped around the little bulb that was extended from the ceiling, his body straight and legs shoulder width apart. Once he was in the correct position, the doors of the booth closed and he was bathed in a red light and felt a sharp prick in the palm of his right hand.

The booth was an ingenious device really. It would take a genetic sample to make sure that it was indeed Ted who was being checked, running scans of his face and body structure and then matching it against his last visit to an identification booth. If he deviated from the previous visit by more than 5% then the booth would seal itself and require and officer to unseal it and take him away for questioning.

While there were legitimate cases for his body structure to have changed from the last time he visited, the x-ray scans and the blood sample would be able to tell how much of it was body mass and how much of it was clothing, or in the case of broken limbs, a cast. Working off his general body structure, the standard density of human flesh, and so forth, combined with the scaled on the floor, it could get an accurate reading of his actual body weight.

If one were to not visit in a few months, then it was likely they would be taken away for questioning. While they would be let free as a matter of course, it was still an inconvenience. It was still a dastardly plan to make people visit the shopping centers more often. While there were identification booths in other areas, one did not want to walk into a police station or a military base to get their "regular checkup" as that could be construed as wasting official time.

Other stores existed of course, but those were forbidden from carrying dangerous substances or items such as weapons and blades of a certain length. Besides, it wasn't like walking to the shopping center every now and again was too much to ask. If he happened to purchase something while inside, well that was a good thing right?

It wasn't as if it was difficult either, the public transportation system had been vastly improved in the last few years, he should know, he had build part of Los Angeles' monorail system. The reasoning of course, being that in the event of an invasion, the fact that the roads being full was not a proper excuse to explain why it was that they could not drive reinforcements in to reinforce the defenders.

It was made particularly poor due to the way the cities in America had been designed following the 1950s, highways, lots of suburbs, roads and roads and more roads. Very little if any effort was placed into the actual planning of the cities, just plonking suburbs here, shopping centers there, small shops over there. It was a deathtrap. If they were invaded and the attackers gained a foothold, American forces would need to fight through miles and miles of suburbs, every house a potential pillbox, every shrub containing a potential machinegun nest.

At least in the highrises and multi-family housing complexes, the enemy would be bunched up in a single area. In the suburbs that stretched for kilometers out from the city center, it would be practically impossible to find every single one of them, leaving their flanks and rears vulnerable. And so began what was known as America's Haussmannization.

Suburbs were demolished, the highways made to be several times thicker and capable of supporting much more weight while they were at it. Futureproofing for the Army's tanks and convoys. In the place of the single family homes, multi-family complexes were constructed, almost socialist-like in design where every apartment could house a single family of 5. It had the effect of compressing the American spread of their houses, their peoples, their utilities and infrastructure into a much more compact area. Something that had a multitude of effects that had not been anticipated.

Schools became much more efficient as they were all filled to capacity, whereas before some would not even get 50% capacity due to the way the suburbs spread out the population and made transit times increase dramatically. Utilities were used to their maximum potential, there was no 50% running capacity as the people that they were designed to serve were all close enough to allow for maximum efficiency. Further, the fact that everything was much closer, ensured that the need for cars had fallen dramatically, everyone able to use public transport and to simply walk around.

What was an unintended side effect was that by eliminating single family segregated housing and placing everyone into allotted homes, not of their choosing, the race question had been answered as the fact that everyone was living together made it much more difficult to discriminate. Without the enabling factors of all ethnic neighbourhoods, people turned out to be much nicer. That and the politicians and leaders who were outspoken on the issue of race mysteriously died all at the same time.

With the proliferation of the public transportation system, the military and the politicians were very happy indeed. People were now off the road entirely, any vehicles must pay exorbitant taxes if they weren't official or military vehicles. The use of roads being delegated almost entirely the government within cities.

That did not mean one could not purchase a vehicle and have it parked in a conveyor outside of the city, indeed many people did. The roadtrip had always been an American dream, something that had continued to live on in imagination to this day. But with the public transportation system now connecting most of the country (except certain military bases), it had become easier and cheaper to simply use the trains that mapped out the entire country in their network.

With the speed they moved at, Ted and co had managed to reach the shopping mall from a distance of 100 kilometers away in less than 15 minutes of meeting up outside of Robin's place.

Ted stepped into the shopping center, itself covered from the sky by a large plastic canopy, in order to both protect against attacks from the air in case of an invasion, and to keep out the rain. The design was an ingenious on, he wasn't sure how they had managed it, but the plastic was somehow air-porous yet repelled water. Allowing for air to pass through it and avoid the ceiling of heat death present in many older shopping center designs, but to also prevent rain and snow from getting through. It could also be tinted electronically to prevent the worst of the sun in the middle of the day. Genius.

Ted made sure that when he walked out of the booth (the red light had flickered green to indicate he was free to let go of the bulb and his identity had been confirmed), he avoided the guards. They would be rather twitchy this soon after a raid, he would know, he had been in their shoes only recently. While they wouldn't be shooting people, their underslung grenade launchers fired flash bangs that were extraordinarily painful when they went off. The bright lights and the loud noise produced by the grenade more than capable of sending him to his knees and "subduing" him if he wasn't prepared for it. It would be a good idea to just leave them alone for now, getting flash banged would be a bad start to his date or pre-date.

That and if it was close enough, it could destroy his arms or legs, or burn him badly if he was just out of lethal range.

As he waited for Robin, Lily, and Marshall to make their way through the checkpoint, Ted looked around. Ah. Was that an Apple Store? Those were always nice, white and shiny. The inside was always interesting to walk in and pretend that he was a high class shopper of some kind. Not that it was expensive really, everything was affordable. He just didn't like to have something that looked so good when he rarely ever left the house in the first place.

Ever since the Supreme Court had ruled that corporations were people, instead of it turning out the way that the Corporations and their bribes had been expecting, the American government had taken it to its natural conclusion. If they were people, then they could be conscripted. A pedant might call it nationalisation of industry, the Supreme Court had said that if they were people then they could be conscripted. A landmark case really, changed the entire system of American governance.

Corporations were now obliged to assist in America's development in terms of production, providing goods, and ensuring that they paid their taxes. Americans could now purchase affordable goods without bankrupting themselves while doing so and spiralling into credit card debt.

It had meant that Corporations that were once extremely powerful and almost independent of the government, had lost much of that power. The government having supervisors that ensured all chains of the production process were done properly. That everything was completed with accuracy, that there were no fudging of the numbers and all safety protocols were followed.

Only by following the rules could a Corporation be successful and many attempts were made to try and challenge the case, but when the supervisors had forbidden them to lie in media pieces, much of the public support fell by the wayside. And now, so many years later, it had become accepted fact that the Corporations of America worked for the American people. It had only taken 200 executions to accomplish, a minor miracle compared to the conscription act. Many draft dodgers had been shot, the pacifists as well.

America was facing a war on its shores, there was no room for conscientious objectors here, they must be spies. Many of them were shot in summary trials and the American people had cheered for it. All spies must die, it was for the greater good.

The fact that there was a constant threat of attack had also resulted in what was very clearly a change in the way that things were run in the country. There would be no more independent police, all would be placed under the same umbrella to prevent such events like the Hollywood burning from happening ever again. Where the national guard, the army, and the police forces had fought over who had authority, deploying their units out of pattern and generally screwing everything up. What should have been completed in a few hours had ended up with a week of non-stop fighting by the Russian "Vacationers".

Never again. It would never happen again and all states, all police forces were folded into the military.

The military police was what he was seeing here, trained in the military, well disciplined, and they followed their orders.

Ted looked at Robin as she left the booth and they waited for the others to join them.

"Things really have changed from 10 years ago haven't they?" She said as an aside.

"Yup. Bit of the bad, bit of the good." He replied, hands in his pockets.

"Would you ever trade that back?"

"No, things are better now. Everyone is more unified, everything just works now, so much better than it did before."

"Well, I'm glad you think that way."

"And that kids is how I met the woman that was going to introduce me to your mother." Said Ted, looking at his pre-teen children.

"Wait wait. Why did she say it was good?" Asked his eldest.

"She was an FBI informant looking for saboteurs, thought I was a little suspicious since I had a protection mask with me on a raid day," Ted replied.

"Wait wait. Aunt Robin. The Aunt Robin that lets us ride in her car. The Aunt Robin that gives us the best Christmas presents is an informant?"

"Was an informant. She's just a radio host how."

"Wow."