Hi! This is a cross post of my 40k story on Spacebattles, I've been playing around with the idea of an SI in 40k for a while, but I wasn't sure what setting to use, please forgive some OOC moments in some characters for plot purposes. I hope you enjoy and offer some good criticism!
Edit-1: fixed some formatting to help address wall of text syndrome.
My first experience in the grim darkness of the 41st millennium was a chaos cultist swinging an axe at my face. I barely managed to duck my head out of the way. Moments before, I was simply walking to my truck to head home after work then Bam.
Bright gold light.
Crazed bald person with an extra arm is swinging an axe at my face, from outside in the south Texas sun to suddenly subterranean. I plant my boot into said cultist's chest, knocking him onto his back as I scrambled, my hand darting under my suit jacket and drawing out my pistol.
Oh yes, I was, and still am, a gunsmith, I worked at a gun store and carried a firearm most days. In this instance of transdimensional fuckery, I was carrying an FNX-45, a fifteen round hand cannon loaded with hollow points.
Of course, at this time I didn't know exactly where I was, so I refrained from pulling the trigger, keeping the red dot sight trained on the cultist's chest.
"Stay down or I will shoot!" I snarled out. I don't believe the cultist understood me, as at this time I hadn't learned either variant of Gothic yet. He got back up, cackling with a rasping voice, speaking words I couldn't understand.
He charged once more and I fired two shots. The first one hit his chest, but didn't penetrate, a plate of chitinous bone spider-webbing with cracks. The second shot, that I let recoil kick upward, pierced through his left eye and blew the back of his head all over the wall behind him.
This interaction all happened in less than two seconds, the muzzle flash illuminated the area, revealing a group of people entering the same area I was in, right as I just committed what would be construed as a felony.
A tall gentleman in a red outfit reminiscent of a red army commissar, followed by a woman who holds herself with a certain air of authority, they're both covered in dust. They're also speaking that language I can't understand while pointing weapons at me. Shit. my gun is dropped and my hands are parallel with my head in an instant.
"Self-Defense, I swear!" I manage to get out, and instantly there's a spark of curiosity in their eyes, the woman's especially. She's the one who speaks next, this time in plain clear english, albeit the Queen's english, not my own drawl.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?!" She demands, I notice the commissar move to a step behind her and to her right, deferring to her. They both still have weapons pointed at me, and now that my eyes are adjusting I can see that she's holding what looks to be a bolt pistol, and the commissar a las-pistol. I could recognise those blocky designs anywhere. Still, I answer.
"David James Foothill…and I don't know where here is." I speak. Choosing honesty, because now I can see that Inquisitorial rosette hanging around her neck. Blonde hair, aristocratic features, even covered in dirt. The commissar himself is traditionally handsome, with a defined jaw, and a decent pair on him to rock sideburns like that while remaining clean shaven.
"As for what I'm doing, well I shot this thing. And that's about it." blunt honesty seems to be working so far, as I haven't been shot yet. I'm scared out of my mind at this point, and then the realization that I killed something hits me and I'm hit with a wave of nausea, and the thick stench of blood doesn't help anything as I quickly turn, hunch over, and hurl my lunch out against the wall. I swear I can actually hear the two chuckling at my display.
"Fuck. Sorry about that…ain't never shot someone before…that is a sentient being, right?" For whatever reason, she decides to holster her weapon.
"Unfortunately. Retrieve your weapon. Compose yourself. You are being taken into Inquisitorial Custody and drafted into a penitent squad. Your first assignment is to assist Commissar Cain and I during our investigation. Question my orders, The Commissar will shoot you. Run away, the Commissar will shoot you. Betray us, and we'll kill you slowly." Another shot of bone chilling fear shoots through me as I quickly comply, picking up my pistol, double checking the chamber and how many rounds I have left in my magazine.
Thirteen rounds remain.
I've got two more under my right arm, total of 43 rounds of .45 ACP remaining. I can hear them talking, discussing me. I walk over to something that flew off my head when I dodged the first swing of the Genestealer's axe.
My hat, a straw cowboy hat. I stare at it for a moment before dusting it off and placing it on my head. I crack my neck idly, straightening myself and my coat jacket.
"Going to war in my good suit…without my rifle, and less than a tenth of the ammunition I would want…" I let out a forlorn sigh. "Embrace the suck, David." I mumble to myself, there's only one direction to go, as there's only one door that Commissar Ciaphas fucking Cain and Inquisitor Amberley Vail didn't just walk through, leading to a corridor with light filtering at the end.
Half a kilometer later we entered a cellar. I was forced to be point man at gunpoint. Now I'm not a veteran. I'm not a police officer. But I know one thing for sure to keep your ass covered when clearing a room. Check. Your. Corners. I knocked three times on the door frame to signal the room was safe before Vail and Cain entered.
They double checked, as I know for a fact they didn't trust me as far as they could throw me. They chattered to each other in Low Gothic. If I focused, I could pick up words in languages I had a passing familiarity in recognizing, but couldn't follow their conversation.
I did note that Cain had a distinctly Russian drawl in his speech, while Vail's accent switched between a hint of German and the queen's English. I could pick up words they would say in English, Spanish, and occasionally Tagalog.
"I… In…cellar…some kind." Cain spoke, he was looking around, noting the carvings on the wall. "Civilian..staring…me." He continued, noting my gaze on him, I looked around myself, noting the stairs and keeping my weapon trained on them and my ears trained on their conversation.
"He's… at everything….untrained…observant. Obvious…terrified." Vail next, you're damn right I'm terrified, I know where I am now, Gravalax. Where Vail and Cain would first meet, and begin their long and storied association. And I'm dumped right in the middle of it. It had been a long time since I read that book, and my memory was spotty, but I did remember a few things. We're about to run into purestrains.
"We're gonna have trouble soon." I spoke aloud. Vail's attention snapping to me. I gestured down the corridor. "It opens up into a large chamber. We got hostiles on our floor. Can't see more than that. I'd have to go closer to get a better count, but didn't want to risk it."
"Your outfit doesn't lend itself to stealth, no." She comments, I feel the corner of my mouth quirk upward.
"Its not very practical for scouting no…Lord knows I just wanted to go home after work." I muttered in reply.
"What is your trade, Foothill?" Vail asks, and I let pride enter my visage.
"I'm a gunsmith. I make autoguns, and I'm damn good at it." I respond, and I see curiosity enter both hers and Cain's Visages. I note that Cain seems to understand me just fine. "Repairs, cleanings, addressing performance issues. If it shoots a projectile, I can figure it out if I don't know how it functions already."
"Interesting…a conversation for another time. It is time to move." And move we do. Slinking in shadows avoiding detection as much as possible. As we're approaching the stairs to be free of this, Tzeench decides to be a bitch. Instead of the lasbolt hitting the wall near Cain's head, it burns a hole six inches in front of my face.
I duck behind a pillar, quickly seeing follow up shots burn where I just was. Son of a bitch was covered in gold and red, some fancy guard. I snap a shot out and I see the top half of his head get reduced to chunks of viscera.
I can hear the cannon shots that are Vail's bolt pistol ringing my ears, I can see Cain's laspistol blasting. I shoot four more shots, taking down two cultists before a keening wail that sends shivers down my spine. I change my half empty magazine for one of my two spares.
"Merciful Emperor, it's purestrains!" Cain shouts, and I can understand that just fine, because I see a dozen of those disgusting amalgams of flesh rushing us at breakneck speeds, a bolt blasts one in half, Cain sends a lasbolt into one's eye, and I send four rounds into a single strain before it goes down. Then boom. Literally. An explosion rocks the ranks of the genestealers.
Jurgen and his Melta arrive in style.
There's another person with him, hefting a long las while Jurgen is chucking grenades from the upper level. I hear Vail yell "Time to run!" And move to join them, seeing a lasbolt blow the head off of a 'stealer sneaking up on Vail, and a bloated mess of a genestealer hauling ass towards Cain with lethal intent.
My instinctive shot staggers the thing. It's eyes slowly pan towards me, as if barely noticing me now. I use its hesitation to send five more shots at its chest.
"Come on!" I shout at it, firing two more shots that deflect off its skull plate, albeit hitting hard enough to send chunks of said skull plate flying. "Chert voz'mi! Debil!" I keep shouting, shooting between russian swears. Its closing the distance between us,
"Hold on, son! I'm coming!" I hear someone call in Russian, or Vostroyan, I should say. I couldn't really take time to appreciate the gesture as the Patriarch keeps trying to get close, and I fire the last shot in my magazine into one of its eyes, the organ bursting into a purple, foul smelling ichor. I decide to hurl myself behind cover as it screeches in pain, I hit the ground with a hard thud, and I hear it before I see it. It sounds like an artillery piece going off, and I see fire reduce the patriarch to naught but ash.
Translations:
Chert voz'mi! Debil!
Fuck you! Moron/Asshole, no direct to English Translation
Chapter 2
Inquisitor Amberley Vail Commentary, Inquisition Ordo Xenos Eyes Only Sealed by order of Inquisitor Amberley Vail, M41
I was keenly aware Foothill knew something. That much was obvious. As was his inexperience in navigating a combat zone. I noted, watching as Jurgen helped the young man up. His attire would place him as the fourth son of a minor agriworld noble. The kind you would see helping wrangle a hundred head of grox, yet his stub pistol was obviously archeotech. He spoke Cadian cant with a Nethaman drawl yet couldn't understand Low Gothic completely, yet understood Valhallan and was currently muttering Rynnic Curses with practiced ease, as if he grew up a child of the Crimson Fists.
"Pinche hijo de puta mutante.." he muttered, I let out a small laugh, catching Cain's attention.
"He's surprisingly competent…he saved my life." Cain spoke, moving to my right as we watched the young man interact with Jurgen.
"He hasn't missed a shot yet." I note, agreeing with a small nod. I wasn't sure yet if that feat was skill or attributed to the archeotech pistol.
"Yet can't understand that getting a Genestealer Patriarch's attention is a good way to get fragged." Cain Shot back, I shrugged in response.
It was obvious the boy had a noble streak from his actions during the battle. I remember that thinking at this time he would make a good bodyguard, with proper training, and beating that self-sacrificial nature of his out of him. Years later I would ask him about his time there on Gravalax, which at this point, had been roughly thirty minutes. Many of my inquisitorial compatriots questioned by decision to recruit an unknown element into my retinue.
If we knew then what we know today, I would've shot David. Save myself years of trouble. Still. He had just saved our lives, so I granted him the benefit of the doubt, deciding that having an unknown would be more useful in Inquisitorial custody than dead or in the wind. I sometimes wonder if he realized that I wasn't helping him when I took him, he knew what I was and the power I held, he would reveal to me later, so he couldn't have been naïve enough to follow along like some lost dog.
David James Foothill, Legios Repentia in the retinue of Inquisitor Amberley Vail, Ordo Xenos.
I wasn't naïve but I was definitely desperate enough. That's right Vail, I read your commentaries. Whatcha gonna do about it? Anyways, I composed myself and nodded in thanks towards Jurgen.
"Spasibo, sir." I spoke, nodding my head at the Valhallan. Who simply nodded. I noted that I couldn't notice his signature stench, but I had other things to worry about. I noticed the marksman, I heard Cain call him Sorel, and the two began chattering to each other in low gothic.
I focused on quickly checking myself for wounds, finding none, I let out a sigh of relief and reloaded my last full magazine. As Cain, Vail, Jurgen and Sorel caught up, and explained my presence, I took a look around the chamber we were in, acting on a hunch, I cracked open one of the crates that was scattered around the room, one of the few that wasn't blasted by lasfire.
"Nice." I muttered, picking out a large frame stub revolver with a swing out cylinder, still in its munitorum packaging, I checked the bore, no pitting or excessive wear, chambers looked clean.
"You're a pretty thing, ain't ya?" It had a ported barrel, and was chambered in what looked like an equivalent to 500 Smith & Wesson Magnum. Five shots in a cylinder. I turned to face the group of guardsmen and the Inquisitor, who's gaze snapped to me for a split second, I gestured to the revolver with my head, silently requesting permission. No use getting shot over something this minor. She gave a slight nod, nearly imperceptible before returning her attention to Cain and the others.
I quickly loaded the revolver with what I deduced to be brass penetrator slugs, snapped the cylinder shut, and stored it in the back of my waistband. I made sure to requisition a proper hip holster for it as soon as I could later on, but my options were limited at the time. I joined their group quietly. Catching some of their conversation when I put in the effort to listen.
"...Standard Operating Procedure." Jurgen spoke as we made our way up to the top of the stairs, reaching the top, a solid wooden door blocking our path.
"I see." Vail this time, she pointed at the door.
"Jurgen, if you'd be so kind?" The grin that lit up Jurgen's face was contagious as he squared up with the door and let loose with that Melta. He slagged the door and a good portion of the wall. Sunlight broke through the smoke, a tense silence settling over the group as it began to clear. The distinctive sound of a bolt shell going off heralded Sorel's head exploding in a shower of gray matter.
Jurgen and I surged forward practically in sync. I shoulder checked Jurgen as the second shot that would've knocked him unconscious instead zipped in the air where his head used to be and between Cain and Vail. It knocked him to the floor in a tangle of limbs, but he was still mobile.
I could see the perpetrator, Governor Grice. Genestealer Patriarch and bloated mess of a body horror monstrosity…who was also aiming a bolter at me. Yeah I didn't really think the action of trying to keep Jurgen in the fight through, as now I was the target of Grice's ire.
Have you ever felt the sensation of a rocket propelled explosive zipping an inch past your ear? It's not pleasant, the reminder of your mortality and powerlessness in the face of the power that the horrors of this universe hold. Having to move forward through grit and faith, pushing through fear and terror, channeling the emotions into rage. Rage. It's a hell of anesthetic, and enough of an adrenaline stimulant that I had enough gumption to return fire. Cursing with enough Vitriol to make an Imperial Navyman proud.
"Scum sucking, kin-fucking, traitorous FUCKER!" I shouted, my first sentence in Low Gothic, I might add. I'm particularly proud of that.
"COVER PLEASE!" I shouted as another bolter shell detonated the wooden buttress I was taking cover behind. Bolt shells and lasbolts joined my bullets in return fire. I've hit this bastard with six rounds already. How is he still shooting?! I heard the hum of Jurgen's melta and hit the dirt just before he glassed the whole corridor, and I witnessed the lower body of Governer Grice Slump to the floor, a charred stump where his head used to be, three arms splayed out around him.
"...holy shit, Jurgen."
Translations:
Pinche hijo de puta mutante
Fucking mutant son of a bitch, Spanish.
Spasibo
Thank You, Russian.
Chapter 3
I did my best to blend into the rubble as the events of Gravalax came to a close, with Cain and Vail speaking to the PDF General and explaining the situation. At this point I had definitely looked the part of a Civilian Conscript. Covered in dirt and blood, I could feel the aches from small wounds darting my body, shrapnel from destroyed cover splintering, and general exhaustion. I heard a few footsteps approach me, turning to face the Commissar himself. Ciaphas fucking Cain. Jurgen followed close behind.
"I can't figure you out, Foothill." He spoke plainly, I was having an easier time tracking his low gothic, and I knew it wasn't natural. "Why put yourself at risk? You had options to get away in the confusion." I simply shrugged before preparing my response, my low gothic broken and slow.
"I grew up, first son, family of six." I explained, talking with my hands to help support my broken language. "Sister oldest, the favorite. As first son, my duty: Protector. When brothers came along, twins. Father taught me to fight with hands. Duties expanded when older. But stayed same. Protector. Way I fight. Reflects duty. Old Arbites taught me. 'We're all brothers in Foxhole.'" Old Brown was an old Sheriff's deputy that served in 'Nam and then SWAT afterwards. Taught me how to actually function in a firefight.
"Could say more, but don't know words."
"You've picked up a lot in a short time, if that's any consolation." Cain stated with a chuckle, his shoulders relaxing slightly. I let a smirk grow on my face.
"Low Gothic is eight languages in trenchcoat with knife. Lucky I knew three of them." I joke with a smile. This actually got a chuckle out of both Cain and Jurgen a weight seemingly lifting off of their shoulders.
"Where did you learn Valhallan?" Jurgen spoke, as his attention shifted to me I could notice that signature supernatural stench. It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it'd be, I could've written it off as just him wearing heavy clothing in a temperate environment if it wasn't wafting directly under my nose like someone holding a cow pie under it. I ignored it.
"In schola, one of my friends spoke it and I learned by badgering her to teach me until she gave in." I replied smoothly transitioning, but our conversation was cut short by the arrival of the Inquisitor. Who promptly held out her hand.
"Your weapons, Foothill." She ordered in plain English, I gave a sigh before slowly taking the stub revolver out of my waistband and unloading it, handing it over to her without restraint. I then unloaded my pistol, flipping it over in my hand and offering her the grip with some hesitation.
"If I'm not overstepping my bounds…I would request that you return this one to me." I asked formally.
"I would be concerned about myself, if I were you, Foothill. Come. Have a good evening, Commissar, Jurgen." With that, we separated ourselves from the Vallhallan 597th. I followed Vail quietly, letting her air of authority drive away curious guardsmen and PDF Forces.
We made our way to her base of operations, waiting there was a number of people. The rogue trader was obvious, his boisterous outfit practically screamed it. She practically ignored him before handing my pistol to another man. This one covered in Bionics that made my skin crawl looking at them.
"Examine this weapon. I have reason to believe it to be archeotech. Tell no one until I give the order. And for the love of the Emperor: Get. Rakel. Now." Everyone in the room tensed as her tone went from friendly to Ice Cold.
Their curious gazes going from idle to focused in a second. She gestured to a room that was obviously a makeshift interrogation cell. With a heavy sigh I entered. She stood by the entrance, blocking it with her body. She pulled a dataslate from behind the doorframe and tapped a few inputs before speaking.
"David James Foothill. Real name unknown. Age: twenty-five to twenty-six terran years. Planet of Origin: Unknown. Inmate was in possession of an archeotech stub pistol when taken into inquisitorial custody and drafted into a penitent squad consisting of David James Foothill. Interrogation proceeding. Sanctioned Psyker Rakel, in service to Inquisitor Amberley Vail is present. Inquisitor Amberley Vail, Ordo Xenos, Is commencing the interrogation." She spoke into a com-bead linked to the dataslate before addressing me, I could see a dark haired woman in a green gown poking her head around the edge of the doorway. Her eyes locked with mine and shined with interest, losing the haze that shrouded them before. Vail gestured at the table in the center of the room, two chairs on either side. "Sit, Inmate." my nerves were beginning to get to me as I hesitated.
"Is this necessar-"
"The charge of Insubordination is now being added to the accusations. That carries a penalty of death or Penal Legion, David. In case you weren't aware." Her voice was teasing, as if admonishing a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. The mental image sent Rakel giggling. I complied quickly after that.
"Now David. I'm not blind. You risked yourself and facilitated the eradication of the Genestealer Patriarch formerly known as Governor Grice. You complied with orders quickly, performed admirably in combat. However, you're an unknown. I. Don't. Like. Unknowns." Her voice was an angry growl that I felt in my bones. "So. I'm going to ask you a few questions. You're going to answer them. And Rakel is going to see if you're telling the truth or not."
"Yes Ma'am." I replied quickly, nodding.
"Good. Now. Why were you here?" I straightened myself in my chair and opened my mouth to reply.
"I-"
"He didn't choose to be here." Rakel cut me off.
"Yeah that. Two hours ago I was at work, locking up before I stepped out of the store and BAM!" I say, snapping my fingers, "I go from being outside in the South Texas sun to being underground with that cultist you saw me shoot swinging their axe at my face." Vail is nodding along as I speak, watching Rakel, who simply nods, her head twitching.
"Bright golden light, fear, anger. First taste of war." Rakel Narrates, I can feel her gaze in my mind, reading through the memories
"Are you a threat to the Imperium of Man?" Well that was blunter than I expected.
"Being frank, that's not my decision to make." I reply.
"Just a man~ Just a man~." Rakel Sang "Loyal to Family, Loyal to Friends. All long dead~ I'm in his head~!"
"I could say I'm not a threat, but that's just words. Hell. I could cut out one of my kidneys and give it to you as emergency medical supplies and if you're doing your job right you'd still be suspicious."
"Always good to have a spare." Rakel again, Vail feigns considering that course of action before asking the next question.
"Well then, from interrogation to Interview. What makes you worth saving the bolt shell? How can you be of use?" She crosses her arms under her chest, glaring at me imperiously.
"I'm a gunsmith. And I'm a gunsmith." I reply bluntly, Rakel speaking up, mimicking a spiel I would say to the old fudds who never wanted to hand their guns over to someone under Sixty.
"Only one around that's not dead or in prison."
"Prove it." Vail growls, I narrow my eyes, pride stinging.
"I could hear the difference in cyclic rate of your bolt pistol as the dust gunked its way into the action. You've got detritus blocking your firing pin channel, increasing the likelihood of a light primer strike, and from the ringing in my ears every time you shot you have a penchant for high velocity ammunition. I'm assuming for anti-armor purposes. Your weapon is also slightly overgassed, I would suggest raising your bolt weight, the part of your bolter not the ammunition, to compensate and further widen your operational envelope." The words of my instructor fill my mind, Rakel speaks them aloud, with an imperial touch.
"The fragging thing must work."
"His exact words were 'The Fucking Thing Must Work!' If that helps." I finish, leaning back in my chair.
"Cain's Laspistol." Shit.
"Shit, He thinks!" Fuck you Rakel. "Later" okay that's scary "Good."
"I'm not as versed in las weaponry but I noticed his shots not projecting perfectly straight out of his muzzle as the fights went on. I suspect the focusing lens of his pistol is warping from overheating. Likely needs replacement. Shouldn't be a difficult fix, parts gotta be common, and if my hunch is correct its part of routine maintenance. But we all know grunts flake on routine maintenance when shit hits the fan." I chatter out quickly as Vail's eyes narrow.
"Yes, well I believe the war going on takes precedence over spending time to perform the rites." she says flippantly, I shrug.
"An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Reliability is the name of the great game called 'fuck that guy before he shoots me.'" I shoot back quickly.
"Quaint…" And that was all she said for about ten minutes, during which Rakel decided to be a gremlin. Darting around me, humming songs that supernaturally dragged themselves from my memories, prodding me with her fingers like one of my little cousins wondering why I'm not as brown as they are. I kept my eyes locked on Vail's, watching as she mulled over my fate. She maintained a neutral facade perfectly until a vicious smirk spread on her face.
"Yes. I can use this. Inmate David James Foothill. You are officially being taken into the custody of His Emperor's Holy Inquisition, Ordo Xenos. Despite the severity of your crimes, you are being granted the honor of serving as Legios Repentia. I will be watching you closely. Perform your assigned duties without question from now on, would you kindly? I would hate to have to splatter such a bright young brain all over the wall."
My forehead hit the table with an audible thunk as my shoulders slumped in relief.
"Vete la verga, that was close."
"What was that, David?"
"Yes Ma'am, Lady Inquisitor!"
Chapter 4
Inquisitor Amberley Vail, Gravatrax, Ultima Segmentum, M41
"Karking Administratum…" I muttered, typing away on the dataslate as I left the cell. I left David in there for Rakel to play with. She'd report what she's pulling out of his mind. She gave me enough to work with for now. Still. I will admit that my curiosity was spurred. Idly, I took out my bolter, muttering the rite of unloading and disassembly under my breath. It was a routine check, something I had done hundreds of times before. Yet, with a discerning eye, I went over what David told me. Carbon buildup had scarred the action of my pistol. I could hardly see the metal underneath the black ash coating the inside of the action. I muttered a curse under my breath as my fingers came away black.
"All this, from sound alone?" I whispered to myself, rubbing my fingers together. One thought burst to the forefront of my mind. "The mechanicus can never find out about him. He'll either be branded a heretek or the next Belisarius Cawl." I could hear Orelius let out a laughing scoff.
"That fourthborn? Are you serious?" He asked, I turned to face him, my gaze holding no humor.
"A firstborn son, actually. Who was able to deduce what ammunition I was using, and diagnose my bolter's machine spirit. By sound alone in the middle of a firefight! Emperor Damn It! It'd be impressive if it wasn't so karking frustrating." I growled out, glaring at him. "And the boy is so damned earnest! He can't lie to save his life! Rakel is acting like she found a little brother to dote over, or perhaps she wishes to bed him. I can't tell!" I let out a huff, watching as Orelion raised his hands in a show of surrender, cowed by my frustration. Good. I leaned back in my seat, letting out a heavy sigh. I enjoyed maybe thirty seconds of peace before Mott burst through the door, holding David's archeotech pistol as if it was a holy relic.
(See Inquisitorial Asset Report FN45X1: Archeotech Stub Pistol, Cal. 45)
"Manufactorum Records indicate this weapon was crafted in M3, lady Inquisitor!" He practically shouts, and I have to dart forward and tear the damn thing from his hands to keep Orelion from claiming the relic for himself.
"Neither the Mechanicus, NOR THE KARKING BLOOD RAVENS, are to hear a word about any of this. Am I understood?!" I burst out in a rage, frustration boiling over. I'll admit, not really the impression I prefer to give to my retinue, but Rakel's giggling echoing out of the cell room had been steadily grating on my nerves. Alongside that, the revelation dropped the mother of all puzzle pieces into my lap. A flash of gold light. According to Rakel. Who's currently in a conversation with David. Who more likely than not was shunted through the warp and time.
Emperor above she's going to eat that boy alive.
David James Foothill, Legios Repentia, Gravalax, M41, Administratum Transcription of post-interrogation interaction with Sanctioned Psyker Rakel. Sealed by order of Inquisitor Amberley Vail, Ordo Xenos.
LRDJF: Is there a reason the Inquisitor left you with me alone or are you just perpetuating the 'quirky psyker' stereotype? (Note from Ordo Xenos Inquisitor Vail: More often than not this stereotype has proven true. If you count sudden chaos beast incursion as 'quirky')
SPsyR: -silence, the sound of footsteps and the squeaking of a metal chair's legs skidding across stone flooring-
LRDJF: I got something on my face? Awful Close.
SPsyR: …You're trying so hard to not fall into despair. Your thoughts are easier to read than the books you've read.
LRDJF: …I think I prefer Gremlin Rakel.
SPsyR: You've the Emperor's Grace on your soul, Time-Jumper.
LRDJF: You're saying the Big Man himself dragged a twenty-five year old gunsmith thirty-eight thousand years through the warp?
(Note from Inquisitor Amberley Vail: First instance of his more open conversations with Rakel, a theme that would continue during their time in my service.)
((Note From Legios Repentia David James Foothill, in Service to Inquisitor Amberley Vail: Quit Shipping us Amberley.))
-Ten years added to sentence of Legios Repentia David James Foothill. Charge: Cheek.-
SPsyR: -giggling steadily growing in volume- You're coming along for the ride, Davey~
LRDJF: -A metallic thunk, later confirmed to be Legios Repentia David James Foothill slamming his head into the table.- Kill me please.
-Ten Years retroactively added to sentence Legios Repentia David James Foothill, Charge: Dereliction of Duty-
(Note from Legios Repentia David James Foothill, in Service to Inquisitor Amberley Vail: Emperor Damn It, Amberley!)
((Note from Inquisitor Amberley Vail: Ruin my fun again, David, See what happens!))
-Ten Years added to sentence of Legios Repentia David James Foothill, Charge: Insolence. Reference Incident Report IV88LRDJF862 'Tres Leches Cake Incident'-
SPsyR: You have a part to play, David. I would suggest preparing for the worst!~
-Giggling slowly gaining more and more volume, maintaining crescendo even when the sound of a door being slammed open is heard.-
IAV: The Karking Third Millennium, Foothill?!
SPsyR: The Twenty-First Century, December to be specific~
LRDJF: It was April when I was taken though. I was born in December.
IAV: I don't care! Withholding information crucial to the duties of an Inquisitor! Eighty Years! You're lucky you're bloody useful Foothill!
-Eighty Years Added to sentence of Legios Repentia David James Foothill-
(Note From Inquisitor Amberley Vail: Should have just shot him.)
((Note From Legios Repentia David James Foothill, in Service to Inquisitor Amberley Vail: You know you love me~ :3))
-Ten Years added to sentence of Legios Repentia David James Foothill, Charge: Insolence-
IAV: David James Foothill, you're now in charge of weapons maintenance for my entire retinue. -A metallic thunk, Inquisitor Amberley Vail places Asset FNX45X1 onto the table- Your pistol's machine spirit is proving stubbornly loyal. (See Incident Report FN45X2) Seeing how effective you've been with it. Proven you can appease said machine spirit.
LRDJF: -Metallic clinking and the sounds of polymers being scraped as Legios Repentia Disassembles Asset FN45X1, inspects the pieces, and reassembles them.-
(Note from Inquisitor Amberley Vail: I'll give credit where credit is due, setting an Ordo Xenos Record for fastest non-magos inspection of a non-standard armament.)
LRDJF: Rifling is okay, Firing pin isn't damaged, no springs went flying or you'd be nursing your eye.
-A firm click as Legios Repentia David James Foothill Dry Fires Asset FNX45X1 at the wall of the cell.-
LRDJF: Strong hammer strike, should function fine.
SPsyR: -Mirth Filled Cackling-
IAV: …Mott couldn't even open the action.
LRDJF: That doesn't make sense, this model doesn't have a slide lock…wait machine spirits are REAL?! (See Asset Report FN45X2)
IAV: Evidently so, Quartermaster.
-Legios Repentia David James Foothill Assigned to role of Retinue Quartermaster and Field Armorer, Mechanicus Complaint DJF1 Dismissed-
—Inquisitorial Asset Report FN45X2
Legios Repentia David James Foothill, M41
LRDJF: The FNX-45 is a short recoil operated .45 caliber semi automatic handgun first released by FN Herstal in 2012. It is an evolution of the FNP series of handguns, addressing the issues that those pistols had and updating the ergonomics with modern handgun operation in mind. This particular model is the FNX-45 Tactical pattern. Featuring a threaded barrel, an Optics-Ready slide, and suppressor height tritium night sights. I've thoroughly broken in this model, having fired over a thousand rounds of 230 grain hollow point ammunition through it prior to being transported to the 41st millennium. I currently have a Holosun 507C Optic installed, which features a solar panel to extend the battery life and three different reticles that I don't have the patience to explain right now.
-1 Year added to Sentence of Legios Repentia David James Foothill, Charge: Insolence-
LRDJF: The .45 Automatic Colt Pistol cartridge that it is chambered in is one of the oldest still in service cartridges known to mankind. My preferred loading is a 230 Grain Jacketed Hollow Point flying at roughly 930 feet per second. Hitting with almost five hundred foot pounds of energy on target, it has proven effective on both charging quadrupeds and bipeds. Some of my contemporaries will say that modern 9mm ammunition has the same amount of energy on target. While this is true with higher pressure ammunition, I personally shoot .45 better than I shoot 9mm. Shoot what you shoot well. Because if you miss it means jack shit how powerful your bullet is.
Chapter 5-
I rocked backwards, reeling from a strike to the nose that slipped my guard. Damn she's a fast woman. Inquisitor Vail shoots me a smirk as she hops on her feet, hands wrapped in bandages, her coat removed and set to the side. I myself was down to my undershirt and slacks, my hands bare.
"You said your father taught you how to fight with your hands, David. Show me!" She says, shaking the blood off of her right hand. I let out a growl as I got my guard back up. Two days after my interrogation and official induction into Vail's retinue the inquisitor herself was rather busy, dealing with the remnants of the Loyalist and Xenoist conflict. Prior to this she had me going over the arsenal, cleaning and fixing the retinue's equipment. I could've gone without Orelius covering his bolter in mud to be a dick about it, but I dealt with it. Now, she's decided to test my capabilities in combat. I suspect she just wanted to blow off steam after dealing with blowhard politicians all day.
"The last time I was in a fist fight was ten years ago, dangummit!" I snarl out, ducking a jab and blocking the follow up cross with my elbow. "If I'm gonna be hitting the Tyson, I'd best have Thunderstrike Gauntlets!" I snap a quick kick into her chest, pushing her back.
"Who the bloody hell is Tyson?!" Vail asks, before ducking forward and launching into the signature combination of the former heavyweight champion. A right hook into a right uppercut, she even shifted into the southpaw stance right. I threw my forehead into the hook and leaned away from the uppercut.
"Someone whose style you should not have enough weight to use effectively, yet the stinging in my face says otherwise." I spit out before launching into my own offensive. Feinting a low kick before snapping up with the same foot and cracking it against the side of her face. She shakes her head whilst bringing her guard back up.
"It's hand to hand combat, not head to foot!" she growls out, I shrug.
"Blame the Koreans, not me! I just learned the style!" Which was correct. My dad was a third degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do, and I learned to appreciate how a fast kick to the head can shock an unprepared opponent.
"You kicked me, I'm blaming you." Vail grumbles out before she lashes out again and I'm knocked onto my ass by a sweep and her retaliatory kick to the side of my head sends my vision swimming. I groan as I stagger to my feet, using the wall as support. Guess she decided to stop taking it easy. I didn't expect to win, and I had only gotten her onto the ground twice in our spars so far.
"I don't want to know what you have planned if you expect me to throw hands with an Ork." I mutter, rubbing my aching jaw.
"I believe Rakel suggested preparing for the worst. I'm an Inquisitor. Getting within melee range of an Ork is one of many 'the worsts' that I can think of." Vail quips, sipping from a bottle of water, her coat draped over her shoulder.
"I can still fold a Tau's clothes with them still in 'em." Yes, I know it's a stereotype. Don't care. Gonna do it. Eventually. If I can get close enough whilst not getting shot. Vail lets out a snicker hidden behind her bottle as she catches her breath. Seeming to hesitate, she turns to face me.
"I have a question, Foothill." Vail starts, gesturing at me with her bottle. "According to you, and Rakel's mind reading. You were born in the early part of M3. Yet, despite your having little to no psyker potential. At least according to Rakel. You have knowledge that most of my compatriots would shoot you over. Whenever I ask Rakel as you why this is, she starts cackling like a madwoman. It's maddening." I let out a deep sigh at this, I knew it would come up eventually, and lying to her is a B.A.D Bad Idea.
(Note From Inquisitor Amberley Vail: Smart Boy)
"Theoretical: If you found yourself in a setting you thought to just be a story, a fantasy, and have to use the knowledge of that setting to survive. Despite that setting being known as one of the darkest in Fiction, what would you do?" I ask, answering her question with another question.
"Practical: I would use my knowledge of the setting to put myself at an advantageous position." Vail responds without hesitation, smirk teasing her lips.
"Like allying yourself with an Individual with nearly unchecked authority, putting yourself in a position where your usefulness outweighs the risks involved with taking on an unknown? Changing events that occurred in the setting to provide an enticing reason to take on said unknown?" I expand, turning to face her. "I didn't really have a choice, but I did change how things were supposed to go. Jurgen was supposed to get knocked out by a bolt shell to the helmet, end up in the field hospital. I figured I would save him some pain, in the memoirs, you take out Grice with that poison dart in your ring." I watch her carefully, watching as realization dawns on her face.
"Who's memoirs?" She asks, voice a whisper. I let a small grin grow on my face.
"Ci-Ci-Ciaphas Cain, Hero of the Imperium!" I sing, holding back a chuckle before shaking my head.
"That's what Rakel's been humming all day?!" Vail snarls, doing her best impression of an Eldar banshee as she seemingly teleports into my face to grab a fistful of my shirt. I raise my hands in a show of surrender.
"We've got bigger problems than a stupid theme song that wasn't even canon."
"She projected it into my thoughts, Emperor damn it!"
"...I beg forgiveness, Lady Inquisitor."
It takes a few minutes to placate Vail, and soon enough I find myself sitting at the interrogation table again, Vail and Rakel present. Vail speaks first, addressing Rakel.
"Why didn't you tell me?" She snarls, glaring at Rakel, who seems unfazed, eyes glazed over.
"Orders from on high, Lady Inquisitor~" Rakel replies, swaying in her seat, a reverent smile growing on her face.
"Orders?! Orders?!" Vail snarls, about to tear into the psyker before a presence fills the room, Rakel's eyes shining gold as a Voice fills the minds of the three of us. The image of a skeleton, seated on a throne of gold, red bionic eye seemingly locked onto me fills my mind.
"Calm yourself, child." The Emperor of Mankind speaks. "The psyker did as I bid. As will you. The young man has a purpose here. He must remain in your retinue to fulfill it." His voice is powerful. Charismatic, despite the morbid visage he projects before my eyes. "And you, *." He speaks my true name, a baleful light shining in that red eye.
"I will be watching your career with great interest. You know of the events to come. Your own nature compels you to act. As such, I charge you with this: Act. Do not hesitate, for the enemy will not. Changes have already been set in motion, the waves grow, and the Enemy adapts. You must as well. Learn what the Inquisitor will teach you. Learn the ways of war, son, for I have chosen you, for a purpose. It is up to you to prove if you can fulfill it." His voice goes from powerful pseudo-deity, to tired commander in an instant. My heart is pounding in my chest, the vision shifts to a man in golden armor, dark hair obscuring his face before he lifts his head, a smile filled with mischief plastered on it. "Besides, this place could use some lightening up, don't you think?" Melodious laughter fills our minds as it slowly fades alongside the vision. I lock eyes with Vail, who's staring at me, slack jawed.
"Amasec"
"Amasec"
Rakel, finding this whole interaction hilarious, joined Big E by cackling like a hyena.