Would be funny if Cain and his actions are unknowingly creating a new human warp god. One with the domains of healing, liberty, common sense and science.
And as the warp isn't linear in time, this future god might already be assisting it's champion. Cain might very well wake up one day with a mutation: his body produces as much panacea as Cain requires. Poor Cain will lose the ability to get drunk, as any 'blessing' by a warp deity comes at a cost
Cain knew, knew, with absolutely every fiber of his being, that this was not the materium.
"You think?" And the mousy brown haired woman who stared at him with a gimlet eye over her half burnt lho-stick? She was not human either. Not because of her white ecclesial style robes and red stole, not because of that peculiar gold staff topped with a wing snake she held listlessly in the crook of her arm. And certainly not because his palms were tingling with that well honed sense of danger he'd long learned to listen to.
No, the true nature of his situation, and that of the being in front of him, was blatantly obvious in the endlessly whizzing conveyor belt of medicae gurneys whizzing behind her on the cheap linoleum floor, each bed loaded with some poor soul groaning under some malady or wound. Which she was braining with her aforementioned staff faster than the human eye could process, undoing their ailments as quickly as her thumping before they were whisked off into the twisting spaces of the eye searing uncolors of the frakking warp.
"Wow, your powers of observation astound Cain." The wom daemon grunted. Then quirked an eyebrow, her staff of blessed brain damage never slowing. "And rude."
Where was Emeli? He never thought he'd see the day, but where was she? He could really use her-
The lho-stick in his face disrupted his thoughts, smelling of antiseptic and burnout. "You and your girlfriend can keep her panties untwisted. This is just orientation. You'll be out of my hair soon enough."
... he did not like the sound of that. His trusty chainsword may have been missing, his troops may not have been here, but Cain could foresee the consequences of running as easily as any Schola juvie. So he did the only thing he could do.
"Well," he injected every scrap of his Commissarial training at public speaking into his words, puffing out his chest with an easy smile that belied the absolute bolter rounds he was sweating. "You have me at a disadvantage then Miss...?"
Stall.
The daemon snorted, her work at braining people better seemingly accelerating to an undifferentiated blur. "You should know me damn well Cain, for all that you've been mainlining me for so long you've got more of me in you than you do blood."
...what. Then her words caught up and his brain caught fire. He never- he couldn't- that made no. Words seemingly slipped out at the first semi-coherent thought without his input. "Er... I've heard of daemons in a bottle, but..."
"Ha... funny. This look like amasec to you?" She gestured with the now elastic winged staff, a hundred tails sprouting to smack new conveyor lines suddenly manifesting out of the warp.
"I'm Panacea. And in a way?" She snorted, that gimlet gaze returning full force.
"You're my dad."