Valour and Mayhem (40k)

[Academia Nut]

Lands of Nether = Netherlands, which is full of Dutch people
Stone AKA Rock
You already have Rebecca and how I got D is so weird I would never expect anyone to get it. But basically D -> Benjamin Disraeli -> Benjamin -> Benny (or rather, the other way around, but yeah)

If you really want to know, the reference is to the anime series Black Lagoon

Chapter 7 will be up in two hours or less. Probably less

[Academia Nut]

I lied, it was 15 minutes

Chapter 7

It was hard not to smirk as he examined the hololithic display describing the course of the battle. In the three years since Mosegi had become Regimental Commissar to the 117th he had whipped the bastards into shape. First he had united them in their hatred and fear of him, forcing them to work together if only to make sure he couldn’t possibly put them on punishment detail. While this added considerably to the danger to his life, Riva’s watchful eye and his own situational awareness had helped him stay away from wayward shots and assassin’s blades. The incident where he had counter-assassinated a man who had laid in wait for him was both an excellent deterrent and a morale boosting story.

And then when the Imperium had figured out which battlefield they wanted the 117th to die on, the members of the penal legion discovered that age old saw of wanting the biggest hard ass on the battlefield on your side. When other penal regiments were swept away by the tides of battle to be chewed up and spit out, Mosegi had sure that his men were a solid rock that would not break. He did however, make them move if he thought it worthwhile. He saw no point in throwing lives away that could be better used to kill the enemies of the Emperor later.

This meant that by the end of their first campaign the officers were far more scared of Mosegi than the men were. In one incident he had blown the brains out of the regimental colonel for refusing to retreat, a noted reversal from what normally happened in such situations. The fact that this action plugged a gap and prevented not only the encirclement of the regiment but a total breakthrough that could have cost the Imperium deeply was noted by the generals at the time.

It was so notable in fact that Mosegi had managed to talk the higher ups into allowing the 117th to have their own regimental standard, an honour rarely given to a penal regiment. After consulting with the men, a suitably simple a piratical design of a black banner with a central skull over crossed lasguns, a gold 117th in the upper left corner, and red trim was decided. Mosegi did note that these colours were also the colours of the Commissariat, a pleased look on his face.

And now, in this latest battle, he was pleased again. The traitors of this world had decided upon a massive counter-attack along this section of the front, but were encountering a massive problem with regards to the 117th. They weren’t collapsing in the face of the push but were making a slow, methodical fighting withdrawal so as not be cut off and surrounded as the other Imperial forces fell back. Every time the enemy forces tried a direct assault they got chewed up, and every time they tried to push through weaker forces to surround the 117th they got their flanks shot up.

Examining the hololith again, Mosegi notes, “It would appear that the enemy is taking pressure off the Cadians to attack other points. That would be a mistake in my books.”

It was too, for the Cadians had been doing more damage and held a more important target, although it looked like what the enemy commander was trying to do was punch through a weak section to ultimately encircle the heavily defended position and take it apart at leisure. The pressure still had to be kept on the Cadians though.

And now the pressure was off.

General Berg studied the display for a while before he finally nodded and said, “Let the Cadians rip the throat out of the enemy. Have the Gorbast 12th reinforce their position while they counter-attack. As for the 117th, have them hold their ground. They can’t afford to move if the forces pulled away from the Cadians are coming their way.”

Nodding, Mosegi agrees, “Very true General.”

As the orders are issued, General Berg looks up at him and asks, “There is a good chance they could be wiped out if they stand and fight there. How do you feel about that?”

Shrugging, Mosegi says, “If they die doing the Emperor’s work then that is how they die. My policy has always been that if a man’s sins are not enough to immediately damn him then he still has some use to the Emperor. I only object to deaths without a purpose for the Emperor.”

Nodding, General Berg is about to say something when suddenly the hololith lights up with dozens of new Imperial contacts. Glaring up a flustered technician, the man sighs and says, “They just showed up, sorry sir.”

Examining the data tags, all of the officers in assembly groan at once. For some reason the Adepta Sororitas had just decided to show up.

A vox trooper then walks up to the general and says, “Sir, the Canoness for the force of Sisters from the Order of the Ebon Chalice want to know where the heretics and traitors are heaviest.”

Sighing, General Berg says, “Cancel all orders I just issued. Tell the Sisters to attack from the point the Cadians are holding, while I want the 12th to reinforce the 117th.”

Frowning, Mosegi mutters, “Wish they had shown up half an hour earlier or later.”

“Oh? Why do you say that commissar?” General Berg asks.

“Well, what do you think the enemy commander is going to think when we suddenly counter-attack at the force he just weakened? With him already meeting unexpected resistance from a penal unit he expected to steamroll, he’s going to think his intelligence is atrocious and do a major rethink of his entire plan. In fact, he’ll probably think this whole thing was a trap and withdraw,” Mosegi explains.

“But that’s a good thing,” a colonel points out.

Glaring at the man, the general states, “No, not in this situation. Everything is moving right now so none of the enemy units are locked with ours. When the Sisters hit he’ll be able to quickly pull his forces back to his own lines while we try and reconsolidate. This battle is draw with a bunch of dead men on both sides, but no real objectives completed. Half an hour sooner or later and we would have been able to actually smash something important and gain some territory.”

“Couldn’t you just ask the Sister to wait then?” The same, obviously politically appointed colonel asks.

There is a brief pause before the entire control room breaks out into hysterical laughter, normally dour Imperial officers clutching their sides or leaning on equipment or furniture or even each other. After a few moments they start to recover, and wiping a tear from his eye, Mosegi says, “These are Sisters of Battle, they do not wait when there are heretics to kill. In fact, we were lucky they asked us where to attack in the first place.”

“But…” the embarrassed and flustered colonel begins.

“The commissar is quite right. It looks like we’ll have to settle for a draw at the moment, something of a bitter pill considering that we might have been able to score a win today,” General Berg notes sourly.

As the battle progresses and the tides of war begin to turn, Mosegi begins to frown again as the Sisters cut a merely little trail of destruction through the enemy lines. While undoubtedly effective, they were leaving huge areas of unsecured territory behind and the enemy commander was taking advantage of that.

“Oh frak, those crazy bitches are going to punch a hole in our lines,” Mosegi notes in horror.

The Sister’s movements had led to several regiments frantically rushing forward to try and secure the holes opened up. If they stayed put for another hour or two then everything would be fine, but if they moved, as they inevitably would, especially with their limited view of the battlefield, then they would leave a gap that an Ogryn could exploit. The enemy commander could have only begun his plan if he had reserves to exploit any breakthrough, so once the hole opened up there would be nothing stopping the complete overrun of this position. Everything else was committed.

“We have to get a message through telling them to…” General Berg says.

Picking up and double checking his storm bolter, Mosegi says, “I’ll go talk with them.”

Leaving the command centre at a rushed pace and picking up Riva along the way, Mosegi says, “We have a problem.”

“We always have a problem,” Riva notes.

“Yeah, but this one is bigger than most. This one I might not be able to fix,” Mosegi notes.

“That bad?” Riva asks.

“Let’s just say that it’s so bad that I’m going to tell you not to go down fighting with me,” Mosegi says while hopping into the passenger’s seat of the Salamander scout vehicle he had requisitioned for his use.

Jumping into the driver’s seat, Riva replies jovially, “Like you can tell me not to do that.”

Frowning grimly as they launch out of the vehicle pool, Mosegi says, “I’m planning on telling a fanatic in power armour to not do something. Trust me; you don’t want any of this shit on you.”

Ripping across the scarred terrain heading for where the Sisters were finishing off a company of traitorous PDF and regrouping for their next assault, the sturdy and fast little Salamander quickly catches up with them, rushing past the rumbling Exorcist tanks at the rear with their organ-pipe missile launchers and then heads straight for the command squad. Coming up near them in a shower of dirt and gravel, Mosegi hops out and shouts out, “I need to speak with your leader immediately!”

Turning about, the most woman in the most ornate power armour regards him critically for a moment before deciding that he isn’t worth much and says, “What is it commissar?”

“You must hold your position here while Imperial Guard forces move to secure this position before advancing again,” Mosegi states, hoping it will be that easy.

“Must? No commissar, I must kill all of those that defy the Emperor. We have them on the run, and by the Emperor I intend to keep it that way until we have cleansed this entire world,” the canoness replies primly.

“If you leave now, the enemy commander will pour everything he has onto this position and you and everyone else here will die,” Mosegi pleads.

“The Emperor decides when we die,” the canoness says, as if that is an explanation for everything before turning to direct her Sister back into the fight.

“Sister!” Mosegi screams.

“What?” The canoness asks indignantly before turning around to receive a haymaker to the nose. The combination of the fact that Mosegi threw his whole body into the punch, which considering the fact that he was heavier than he looked was a great deal, the fact that he used his metal, augmetic hand to deliver the blow, and that the canoness was not expecting a sucker punch summed together to knock her flat on her ass.

His storm bolter out and ready, Mosegi shouts at the Celestians surrounding him, “No one move or I swear I won’t be the only one going down!”

Having decided that the diplomatic method wasn’t working, Mosegi switches over to projecting an aura of menace and glaring at the canoness with eyes flinty enough to use for skinning.

“All right you frakking vainglorious bitch, I tried being diplomatic, but now you made me go and smash your nose all over your face. Hope you don’t choke on your own blood, because I need you to tell your Sisters here that the Emperor charged them with retaking this planet, not killing the enemy until you get overrun and allow the heretics and traitors to rout the guardsmen here today, setting the campaign back by months or even years. That’s months and years longer that the enemy will be able to preach poison to the lost flocks, that the churches will be defiled by the presence of heretics. So you can do the stupid thing and shoot me before rushing off to a death that will end with you having to explain to the Emperor why you failed him, or you can frakking listen to me and hold this position,” Mosegi states in an utterly calm voice that still has enough intensity to cut like a lascannon.

Glaring up at him and trying to not wilt under his stare, the canoness finally looks away and says in a voice mangled as badly as her nose, “‘ine.”

Nodding, Mosegi lowers his storm bolter, just in time to catch an enemy sniper’s bullet in the chest. Explosively coughing up blood, he shouts out, “We’re busy!” while spraying the area where the shot came from, an act that is quickly joined by the concentrated fire of ever Sister in the vicinity.

Coughing up more blood, Mosegi comments “I think that hit a lung,” before collapsing boneless to the ground.


Waking up recovering in a hospital bed had never been on Mosegi’s list of enjoyable things, but this time was particularly bad seeing as the first thing he saw was the only thing in the galaxy he actually feared. Scrambling back in his bed, trying to get as far away as possible, he discovers that the bandages around his chest and the various IV lines and monitors prevent him from getting very far very fast.

“My, you’re the jumpy one,” Sister Dielle, in full power armour, notes.

“Why am I not dead?” He cries out in horror.

“We got you to the Sisters Hospitaller in time,” Dielle says flatly.

“I mean you,” Mosegi says while pointing a finger accusingly.

Her eyes narrowing, Dielle replies coldly, “I was ordered not to harm you. Ordered to be your bodyguard in fact.”

Taking this in, Mosegi replies, “I take it that the canoness is still pissed.”

“Mostly about the nose really. The sniper was the prelude to a full on assault that would have overwhelmed us if we had moved from our position, so the canoness has forgiven you on that aspect and has actually begun a vigil of penitence to ask forgiveness from the Emperor for her vanity,” Dielle explains.

“But she’s still pissed about the nose?” Mosegi asks.

“Big time,” Dielle notes before breaking into a cruel smile, “Which was why she decided to assign me to watch over you.”

Gulping, Mosegi asks, “I take it she knows the story?”

Glaring at him, Dielle replies, “Yes. Which I suppose I should thank you over seeing as it got me transferred back to active duty.”

Smiling nervously, Mosegi says, “So it all worked out alright in the end?”

Glaring at him, Dielle states icily, “If by ‘alright’ you mean ‘got laughed out of the schola’, then yes. Yes, it would have ‘worked out alright’.”

Mosegi gulps.

Shaking her head in disgust, Dielle says in disgust, “Would you just relax? I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Now. But what about when I get out of here?” Mosegi points out.

Shrugging apologetically, Dielle says, “True.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t bet on you girl,” an old, weathered male voice says out of view of Mosegi.

“Sir!” Dielle says with a salute.

“At ease Sister,” another, vaguely familiar voice says.

Trying to peer past the curtains, Mosegi is amazed when Inquisitor Darien walks into view.

“Ah, Mosegi, how long has it been?” Darien asks.

“About twelve years for me, give or take a few for you depending upon the vagueness of the Warp,” Mosegi reports.

“Yes, and I probably would have come to see you sooner but unfortunately the vagueness of the Warp means that I was stuck in port on a backwater world for four years,” Darien notes bitterly and sarcastically.

“Oh. Well, while I didn’t exactly graduate with top honours I did pass everything, mostly with excellent grades,” Mosegi notes.

Shaking his head ruefully, Darien asks, “Mosegi, do you remember why I had you signed up for commissar training?”

“Because you said I needed something that would give me a good skill set while helping to cool my head off?” Mosegi suggests.

Smiling, Darien says, “Yes, and while I’m not sure you’re head is any cooler, you certainly have learned many valuable skills, self-control certainly being one of them. And you haven’t been transformed into some raving Monodominant or a psychotic Radical.”

“Which was why you didn’t send me to one of the Inquisition’s scholas,” Mosegi says, remembering the old conversation they had over a decade ago.

“Precisely. But now I am in need of an acolyte, especially one with your considerable skills.”

[Ford Prefect]

Frankly, while I find intimidating a Battle Sister Canoness highly unlikely, one must admit that it takes rather a lot of balls.

[Academia Nut]

The way I'm justifying it is that she was shocked enough by the act to actually listen to what he had to say instead of dismissing him like she did before, so it wasn't really intimidation as it was well armed, very fast diplomacy.

Or if you prefer, she rolled a 1 while he rolled a 20.

In any case, the tone will probably shift a bit away from mayhem for the next chapter.

[Sidewinder]

Lands of Nether = Netherlands, which is full of Dutch people
Stone AKA Rock
You already have Rebecca and how I got D is so weird I would never expect anyone to get it. But basically D -> Benjamin Disraeli -> Benjamin -> Benny (or rather, the other way around, but yeah)

If you really want to know, the reference is to the anime series Black Lagoon

Chapter 7 will be up in two hours or less. Probably less

I like the series you're referencing to, as well. It rocks, although I can't imagine any of them, with the exception of Dutch, having both the discipline and the physical/emotional fortitude to serve in a military.

[Academia Nut]

Well, its more of a reference rather than an actual crossover so the characters aren't 1 to 1, and its not like Riva willingly joined or was put into anything more than a cannon fodder unit. Although yeah, she would have been a mess after her first battle, presuming she survived, had Mosegi not decided to make her his aide.

[Academia Nut]

Chapter 8

It was raining on Equis Cerulean, but that wasn’t anything new. The world had once been a quiet, shallow ocean world until it was discovered late M39 that beneath its waves and sandbars there was enough promethium to run the entire sector and beyond. The Adeptus Mechanicus had thus swooped down on the world and began drilling. Where such wealth was, merchants followed, and within a few hundred years the world was covered in bustling hives.

But the mass processing of the raw materials resulted in some unfortunate environmental changes, the most noticeable being that for the past thousand years the entire planet had been sheathed in a layer of thick clouds that rained the acids and toxins released into the air by the factories back onto the cities. It was an ugly, dreary place that housed over seven billion people according to the last survey done by the Administratum.

As with all ugly, dreary places, there was always an even uglier and drearier bar somewhere that would serve drinks that had more in common with engine degreaser than decent alcohol. The kind of place with a metal detector at the doors, not because they are worried about safety, but because their insurance had stopped covering bullet holes in the walls.

Thus when the ragged, rain soaked figure walked into the bar and set off the detectors he immediately had an ugly looking stub pistol shoved in his face by a bouncer whose genome didn’t look entirely stable. Raising his hands passively, the man lets one of his sleeves fall down to reveal the gleam of an artificial limb.

“Frakkers blew me arm off,” the figure says with a wet cough added on at the end.

Narrowing his eyes, the bouncer pulls out an auspex and sweeps it over the newcomer, identifying metal only at the artificial arm and his leg. The man shakes his beneath his poncho to reveal the sound of metal shaking and said, “Frakked up me leg too.”

Lifting and frisking the poncho, the bouncer finds only a leg brace and so looks back expectantly at the bartender, who just shrugs. Shrugging too, the bouncer ushers the man in.

Limping his way over to the bar, the rattle of metal with every other step, the man slumps down at the bar and orders something strong sounding. Taking the drink and handing over some scummy credits, he then begins to bitterly nurse the drink. Eventually one of the regulars took exception to this and swaggered over, asking, “What do you think you’re doing here?”

“Drinking,” the man says in annoyed tone while taking another sip from his glass.

“Drinking… huh, well, you should know that I have a friend coming over soon, and that’s his favourite chair,” the man says, slurring his words drunkenly.

“Then he can go get a new one,” the man states while continuing to ignore the drunk.

“I don’t think you understand… he really likes that chair. Says its magic, seeing as he has score more chicks sitting on that chair than anywhere else,” the drunk states.

“Well then maybe it’s my night to get lucky. I haven’t had any luck, female or otherwise, in the past five years,” the man growls.

Starting to get angry now, the drunk pushes the man’s shoulder and says, “It’s his seat.”

Turning away from the bar, the man glares at the drunk and says, “Go. The. Frak. Away.”

“Do as he says Zadius, you’re too drunk to see you’re in over your head,” a new voice interrupts.

Turning, the drunk frowns and says, “But Emeril, he’s on your magic seat!”

Frowning, the man just glares at the drunk and says, “And he’s ex-Guard. With you drunk as you are, he can take you apart with his bare hands, so stop annoying him.”

The drunk, apparently named Zadius tries to say something before just leaving in confusion. Sitting down next to the man, Emeril says, “I must apologize for Zadius, he can get worked up over the smallest things. As you might have guessed, my name is Emeril.”

Glancing down at the hand now offered, the man carefully extends his own and takes it after a moment’s hesitation, saying, “I go by the handle Never.”

“Never?” Emeril asks.

“Short for Never-Again. Never-Again will I use the name printed on my birth registry and all that crap. Never-Again will I serve the bastards that took my arm and blew out my knee before dumping me on this hellhole with barely enough credits to rub together. Frak the Guard. Frak the Imperium. I’m down to my last twenty credits, and that’s something to get drunk over,” Never explains bitterly.

A drink already in his hands, Emeril says, “Amen to that!” before raising his glass for a toast.

Meeting the toast, Never asks, “So what are you here to drink about?”

“Oh, just another day at work done and now I’m looking for the things that make dealing with the crap I have to put up with worth it,” Emeril replies.

“Booze and easy women?” Never asks.

Laughing heartily at that, Emeril says, “I see you didn’t lose your sense of humour with your limbs.”

“Nope,” Never replies while taking a sip from his drink. He then asks, “So what kind of crap do you have to deal with?”

“I’m one of the pit chiefs at the Circus Macabre, one of the biggest entertainment venues in the sector, let alone the planet. Mostly its gladiatorial fights, but we’ve got a little bit of everything there. Me, I manage the freak show. This shit hole of a planet is so full of toxins that we get more than our fair share of twists. Well I have to deal with them whining about conditions on one hand and pogroms trying to burn the whole circus down to get the freaks on the other while my bosses pressure me to cut costs and raise revenues. Pain in my ass,” Emeril details out.

“Ah. I take it the pay is good though?” Never asks.

Shrugging, Emeril says, “Better than most seeing as I’m in management, but still not great. You think I would be coming here if I was making good money? No offence barkeep.”

“Ah, I just figured you were in it for the atmosphere,” Never replies with a snort.

“Well there is that,” Emeril notes affably. A twinkle then comes into Emeril’s eye and he asks, “Say… how well can you swing a club?”

“I’ve got some training from the Guard, my footwork went all to crap when I got shot in the knee, but otherwise I suppose I’m passable. Why you ask?” Never asks.

“Well, I need someone to help keep the twists in line, some of them don’t being put on display or being forced to fight in the pits, so I need someone to give a good whack with a shock prod every once in a while to make them behave,” Emeril explains.

Nodding, Never says, “Sounds reasonable. What’s the pay?”

“Crappy, but the conditions are better than promethium processing work and much better than unemployment in an acid rain hurricane, no?” Emeril asks.

“True. You got yourself a twist handler then,” Never replies, offering his hand.

“Good, come to the Circus tomorrow and ask for Emeril at the loading docks, they’ll bring you to me and we can do the most dreaded of things, paperwork. Don’t worry though, I don’t need your real name, I’m already doing a bunch of under the table so your pay will be just as easy,” Emeril explains.

“Will do. Barkeep, another round if you will. Huh… I walk in here without a job and walk out with one. Maybe this chair really is lucky,” Never comments.

Emeril bursts out laughing at that.


The Circus Macabre was an enormous, squat dome that took up several square kilometres in the semi-urban zone of the primary hive, Hive Tempestus. Extending down far enough that the lowest levels were beneath the waves of the shallow sea the hive was built on. Catering to some of the worst impulses of humanity, the circus let people indulge in their desires to see the strange and the deadly. Mostly the deadly though as gladiators gutted one another, escape artists failed to escape from their own deadly traps, and acrobats mistimed their jumps.

Heading for one of the sub-levels, Never soon discovers himself surrounded by the bustle of tractor trailers and incoming trains that unload all the various things to run the circus and the load up the various waste products, which is mostly dead bodies and meat from the various exotic animals that die in the shows.

Limping up to a relaxed looking managerial type, Never asks, “Hey, I’m looking for Emeril, he said to come to the loading dock first.”

Looking up, the man says, “Oh yeah, said to expect a guy like you. Go on in. You’re looking for the twist pens; there are signs that should lead you to where you need to go.”

“Thanks,” Never replies before heading inside the circus.

Inside is a bustle of activity as hundreds of people just in the loading dock alone go about their business. He moved through the crowds as if they weren’t there, partly because he was ignoring everyone else, and partly because everyone else went around him because he was slower and less manoeuvrable.

Following the signs through the service corridors, Never soon arrives at an area that has one of the most distinctive stenches he had ever had the displeasure of smelling. A combination of stale urine and feces mixed with more sweat and blood than a hobo gym, it was roughly like a cross of an open latrine on a jungle world and a slaughterhouse with poor hygiene practices.

Pushing open the door, Never finds an enormous open area filled with cages that were in turn filled with hundreds of misshapen creatures that were badly mutated humans. Some of them, probably the newcomers, still screamed intelligibly at their captors, demanding, despite all evidence to the contrary, that they were still human. The ones that had been in captivity for longer either paced back and forth or huddled up in the corners. Those ones were sometimes silent, sometimes muttering darkly, and more often than not gibbering insanely.

“Ah! Never, you’re here sooner than I expected after what you drank last night,” Emeril says, waving him over to a small circle of rough looking men.

Moving over at his customary slow pace, Never says, “What can I say? I’ve got a strong constitution.”

“I suppose to have survived what you have you would need it. Anyway, welcome to the Twist Pit. Your fellow handlers are Xerxes, Lucius, Ivan, and Vlad,” Emeril says, pointing to each man in turn.

Shaking hands with each one, Never then asks, “Okay, so what’s the plan for the day?”

“Right now we’re going to do cage checks. Spray down the really bad ones and look for anything proscribed. The authorities do random checks about two or three times a month looking for shit, particularly the twists worshipping things they shouldn’t be. Frankly I don’t give a frak, but whenever they catch one of the bastards drawing something they shouldn’t its all our asses. Plus there are stories of these frakkers occasionally figuring out witchcraft or something like that. So if you see something fishy looking call and we’ll hose down the cage and the bastard in it with a flamer,” Emeril explains.

“Sounds good,” Never says with a nod. “Where should I start?”

Shrugging, Emeril says, “Since you’re slower, try the east part of the pit, it’s got more of the active ‘performers’ so we’re always moving the cages, and since the crane operators are lazy bastards that area is always a mess, so you can’t check it fast if you wanted to.”

Nodding, Never replies, “Sounds reasonable.”

“Okay boys, off to work for now,” Emeril says, clapping his hands together.

Limping off to the weapons rack Never picks up a shock prod, and then, reorienting himself, he tromps off for the eastern section of the pit. While doing the rounds, some of the freaks try and bargain with him, either through threats of violence or pleas for mercy or pity. At best these tactics bounce off of him like a las bolt off a Leman Russ, at worst they cause him to give the cage a cleaning using one of the hoses hanging from the ceiling at regular intervals or shove his shock prod through the bars. Eventually they just stop trying, something Never greatly appreciates.

And then he finds a cage that causes him to pause in his round. Huddling inside are two of the strangest creatures he had yet to see in his rounds. Not because they were freakish abominations with too many body parts sticking out at odd angles. But because they were symmetrical.

Aside from psykers, most mutants were like misshapen lumps of clay with odd, asymmetrical deformities. Not these two. They were clearly inhuman, but they were also perfectly formed. Their lower bodies were serpentine in nature, while their upper bodies were those of young adolescent girls with six arms, and their heads were almost perfectly human except for a pair of tiny horns protruding from their hair. They were both badly emaciated and filthy, clutching each other out of fear.

Never examined them curiously for some time, doing nothing until Emeril came up to him and said, “Ah! I see you’ve found the famous Serpent Sisters, our number one attraction up in the freak show.”

“Are they xenos?” Never asks.

“No, although we do get that question from time to time, they are certifiably human, or at least human-enough. The authorities keep pestering us about that seeing as we don’t have a licence to display intelligent xenos. Ah well, not my problem for much longer. Their numbers are slipping and within a month they’ll probably be pulled from the show and put into the fights. Won’t last long in there,” Emeril explains. His words cause the sisters to visibly recoil in fear.

“Ah. You make the twists fight when the crowds are no longer interested?” Never asks.

“Yup. Best way of getting rid of them when they’re no longer useful,” Emeril states.

“Do they fight other twists or actual gladiators?” Never inquires.

“A little of both, depending on the mood of the crowd. Sometimes they want to see a fight, sometimes just a one-sided slaughter,” Emeril replies with a shrug.

Nodding, Never shrugs and then continues on about his business.

Several hours later after going the inspections and then moving the cages about so that the contents can be taken to the various shows, the handlers are all sitting in the break room, mercifully on a different ventilation system and protected by an airlock style arrangement of doors. Eating a lunch pilfered from one of the vendors in the main concourse, Never unexpectedly asks, “Those Serpent Sisters, are their extra arms just for show or can they coordinate them all?”

“That’s a strange question, but yeah, they don’t stumble over their own arms. Why do you ask?” Emeril inquires.

Snorting, Lucius says, “Probably some pedo twist freak.”

Giving the blond git the finger, Never replies, “I was just thinking about what a show it would be if they could actually fight with all of their arms at once instead of them just going out and getting butchered. Of course, fighting with two weapons is hard enough, let alone six.”

Shrugging, Emeril says, “Don’t think we haven’t thought of that, but who would train them?”

“Well, if you’ve got no one else I got some sword and gun training in the Guard so I could probably teach them to swing more than one blade without getting tangled up. Work here is pretty easy and boring for the most part and I figure it would be a good way of getting on the bosses good side, maybe get a bonus or two. Plus I would get to beat up twists more than usual without anyone bitching to me about ‘damaged property’,” Never volunteers.

Shrugging while taking a bite out of his sandwich, Emeril says, “No skin off my back, just make sure they don’t get loose after you’ve turned them into trained killers.”

“No worries boss,” Never replies with a sarcastically sloppy salute.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emeril says while waving his hand. Looking idly at his watch, he shrugs and says, “Alright you bunch of louts, back to work.”

About an hour later and Never wanders amongst the cages looking for where the Snake Sisters are now being kept; a key ring on his belt and two synth-wood sticks about three feet long in addition to the shock prod at his side. Finally finding their cage, he points at one of them and says, “You, come here, your sister is to stay at the opposite side of the cage.”

Cowering back, the girl tries to hide, but Never just pulls out one of the hoses and aims it at them saying, “Get over here or you both get the hose.”

Gliding over, the young mutant cowers before Never as he pulls out the keys and begins to unlock the door.

“Looking for some young if not exactly fresh meat, huh normal?” One of the twists in a nearby cage asks sarcastically.

Stopping the process of unlocking the cage, Never pulls out his shock prod and goes over to the loud mouth and gives him a couple of good whacks until he shuts up. Returning to the cage where the girl is now crying in fear, Never unlocks it and grabbing her by one of her arms bodily hauls her out of the cage before closing it again.

Pulling out one of the sticks from his belt, Never tosses it on the ground before the girl and orders, “Pick it up.”

The girl just looks at it, terrified.

“Pick it up!” Never yells and she immediately snatches it up, clutching it with three hands.

“Block,” Never then orders, and sends his shock prod into a long lazy arc that still manages to catch the confused girl in the side, delivering a nasty shock.

“Block!” He yells again, and this time the girl manages to get her stick in the path of the prod, although she puts so little strength into it that she still gets hit, although this time the actual prod doesn’t touch her so she avoids the shock.

“One hand! Block!” Never barks out, and this time the girl responds on the first order, blocking with only one hand, and putting enough strength into it to avoiding getting smacked again.

For the next half hour Never essentially smacks the girl around, forcing her to block a wide variety of swings and thrusts until finally, seeing that her undernourished frame is exhausted, he smacks the stick out of her hand and tells her, “Don’t move.”

Unlocking the cage, he physically hauls the girl inside and then pointing at her sister says, “Your turn.”

Moving out, the girl then spends the next half hour going through the same exercise as her sister; although the experience of watching gives the previous encounter gives her a bit of an advantage. Still, she too is soon exhausted and puts up no resistance when Never throws her back in the cage.

Pulling out a few protein bars Never tosses them inside the cage and says, “You get extra rations as you’re doing more work. Don’t waste the food.”

Greedily tearing into the bars, the girls then look up at their new trainer and for just a moment see a mask slip revealing a different person, one not quite as callous but certainly much darker in personality. For a moment they recoil in horror until a different, friendlier mask is assumed for just a second before the usual callous one is assumed once more.

And then he is gone.


Later that day while walking home from work, a young boy slams into Never and keeps running. Patting down his coat, Never shakes his head and keeps going as if nothing happened.

Rushing into a side alley, the boy meets up with a young woman with a perpetual scowl on her face and says, “I got the note like you asked, but it’s just a grocery list.”

Taking the offered piece of paper, the woman says, “Yeah, I know, but it’s important to me. Here’s your money.”

Taking the offered Imperial credits, the kid runs off while the woman looks over the note. Eventually she crumples it in frustration and then says, “What have you got yourself into Mosegi?”

[Vehrec]

Awwww. Little Maraliths. Don't those things grow up to be 18 foot long queens of the martial arts? With maces, and scimitars, and axes, and maybe a few other select weapons. And coils of serpentine musculature that can crush a man. Of course, these ones are probably physically six year olds. Which means they haven't developed those skills yet, and of course, without psyker powers will never live up to their D&D potential.

[Academia Nut]

Chapter 9

“Okay, looking over the pictures Hailey took of the Serpent Sisters, I can say that Mosegi’s concerns are definitely warranted. This does not look like the work of random mutation, or even of the Ruinous Powers, both of which tend to produce significantly less whole specimens. No, this looks much more like the work of a highly skilled Genetor or even a Magos Biologis,” Adrian explains.

“I was afraid of that just by looking at them myself. Riva reports some similar trouble down in the under-hive in that something is stirring up the mutants more than usual. Apparently significant numbers go missing in the night, not all at once of course, but by ones and twos,” Darien notes.

“Hmmm… yes, there are some other irregularities that I have noted. For one thing, at many of the facilities I have toured, toxin disposal seemed a little lax. Nothing that stood out, but still, a little lax,” Adrian comments.

Adding her two cents to the conversation, Hailey says, “The upper-middle class merchants are constantly concerned about hygiene and proper penance to the Emperor as they still have to go outside unlike the true upper class people. It seems that in the past two hundred years there has been an upswing in mutation in general.”

Mulling this all over for a moment, Darien finally concludes, “Each piece on its own is trivial, but when taken together it generates the damning conclusion of a conspiracy somewhere.”

Sighing, Adrian says, “And it’s probably amongst my brethren. Again. Damn it, why can’t people just do their frakking jobs?”

“Because only the Emperor is perfect,” Darien admonishes lightly.

Grumbling, Adrian crosses his arms and pouts a little.

Ignoring the sulking of the Techpriest, Darien says, “Okay, we suspect there is a conspiracy involving mutation somewhere within this hive, possibly the entire planet. Our main suspects are the local Ad Mech, which leads to the obvious suspicion of the Genetors and any Magos Biologis. Adrian, we will of course need data on any on this planet right now.”

Still muttering curses against his brothers under his breath, Adrian nods an affirmative answer.

“Okay, now we need to figure out what role these Serpent Sisters play in all of this,” Darien notes.

“Seed lines gone wild,” Adrian says flatly.

“Oh?” Darien asks, wanting to know what Adrian has to say.

“Sometimes a Genetor will hit a wall with a particular genetic line and, dissatisfied with the product but not wanting to destroy it, will release it into the wild in the hopes that natural evolution will take over. This is frowned on by the rest of the Adeptus for various reasons; one of the big ones being that it can play havoc with the ecosystem. Of course, such practices are usually done with plants, not animals, or in this case, mutants,” Adrian explains.

“And you’re sure this happened why?” Darien asks.

“Because they certainly didn’t appear in the wild, and they are prominently on display at the circus so if they escaped it would be extremely easy for their creator to find them again and reclaim them. The Followers of the Omnissiah have a lot of pull on this world, and if one of them starts asking for two twists then the circus owners would have to agree. Thus they had to have been let out intentionally,” Adrian details out.

Stroking his chin, Darien nods and says, “Makes sense… huh, well I suppose that also explains Mosegi’s actions.”

“Oh?” Adrian and Hailey ask at the same time.

“He’s ‘making the line viable again’, I suppose you could say. He says that he’s training the two to fight properly in the arena. What do you think their creator will do if they start fighting and winning?” Darien asks.

“Ah! Yes, clever lad. Raise their profile for something other than their curious looks and the creator will become interested again, possibly come to try and reclaim them. An endeavour we shall assist so long as we have means of tracking them down once so taken,” Adrian muses.

“Yes, Mosegi is a clever lad indeed. While he was studying the practices and philosophies of the Inquisition on our trip over here I was studying some of his exploits. Aside from commendations and medals issued left and right while serving as a commissar, he had a rather interesting academic career. Do you know he won awards for acting four years in a row? Or that he was always at the top of his class for political theory? The boy has been preparing himself for a long time now,” Darien says rather eagerly, obviously quite pleased by his new apprentice.

“Yeah. Oh, and hey boss, how goes the search for corruption in the Ecclesiarchy?” Hailey asks.

Scowling, Darien says, “Painfully slowly. I’m getting the run around and unless I want to blow my cover I can’t very well bull my way around, now can I? Fortunately I think they’re just incompetent rather than trying to hide something.”

“Do we need to make some cover switches then?” Hailey asks.

“It will probably be a bit more difficult for me or Adrian to switch and all of the deep cover operatives can’t easily pull out, but yes, I think that your identity is running its course Hailey. The decay seems to be somewhere in the dregs of society rather than at the top, or at least not the middle. We’ll work out where to best put you, but for now be prepared to abandon your disguise. Oh, and someone make a note of it, but we need to make sure that we don’t do anything until the reinforcements I’m calling up arrive,” Darien says.

“What kind of reinforcements?” Hailey asks.

“Oh, enough Guard and Sisters to lock down at least this hive, and an Exterminatus capable warship,” Darien says nonchalantly.


“All right, I will admit to a more than healthy dose of scepticism with regards to this project, and I am enough of a man to eat those words,” Emeril notes while watching the rehearsal with an amused look on his face.

The Serpent Sisters were going at it with wooden practice swords, creating a staccato symphony of synth-wood clashing on synth-wood while the handlers looked on at the show.

Snorting, Xerxes says, “It’s pretty choreography, but can they actually fight?”

Glancing over at his co-worker, Never replies, “If you want you can have a go, see how choreographed they really are?”

Looking back at the two, Xerxes laughs and says, “If you want me to beat the pulp out of your project!”

Narrowing his eyes in annoyance, Never waves the girls down and says, “Take your pick.”

Looking them over, Xerxes finally points to the smaller of the two and says, “That one.”

Shrugging, Never turns to her and says, “Disarm only.”

“What’s that mean?” Xerxes says while limbering up and flicking his shock prod to the ‘On’ position.

“It’s bad for discipline if they strike the handlers,” Never explains.

Snorting contemptuously, Xerxes opens up with a massive swing only to discover a second later that he is no longer holding his shock prod, but that it is delicately balanced on the practice swords of the girl. Grabbing it back, he tries several more attacks only to be almost immediately disarmed every time.

Chuckling, Never points out, “Xerxes, she has six weapons and full coordination over all of them. Attacks as clumsy as those are pathetically easy to block and trap.”

“Oh yeah smartass, how the frak do you get them back in their cage then?” Xerxes asks in exasperation.

“Well, aside from the obvious threat of calling for back-up with ranged weaponry, I’m a much better swordsman than you are, and I suck at it,” Never replies sarcastically while pulling out his own shock prod. The girls both immediately drop their swords and bow their heads.

Grinning, he then says, “As you can see, they know not to trifle with me.”

Glaring at him, Xerxes then explodes into action, going for a lethal strike with his prod against one of the girls, only to discover Never’s own prod blocking the attack, with Never shooting daggers from his eyes.

“You cowardly chickenshit frakker! You want to start something, start it with frakking me!” Never screams.

“Twist frakker!” Xerxes screams back while the other handlers haul the two apart.

“Shut up both of you! Xerxes, grow a frakking pair you petty bastard!” Emeril shouts while holding them back.

“Me! He’s the one that-” Xerxes begins.

“Shut the frak up! He’s the one you’ve got a problem with, but you had to be a little bitch and go after his work, work that I might add belongs to the circus,” Emeril interrupts, berating his subordinate.

Shoving off Lucius and Ivan, Xerxes points a finger at Never and says, “This isn’t over!”

Released from Emeril and Vlad’s grasp, Never makes a ‘bring-it’ gesture and says, “I welcome it.”

“Shut it both of you. Xerxes, take the rest of the day off. Without pay. Never, get these twists back in the cage, they have a show tomorrow,” Emeril orders. Xerxes looks like he’s about to protest but then just scowls, spits, and walks away.

Shooing the girls back towards their cage, Never looks over his shoulder a few times and then leans in close to them and says, “Stop for a second girls.”

Pausing in their movement, they look at him and then at the small Imperial Rosaries he is holding out.

“I know you’re mutants, but your sins are not your own and you have done nothing else wrong, so if you die tomorrow, die praising the Emperor on your lips, and perhaps he will forgive you in the next life,” Never whispers.

Reverently taking the simple sets of beads, the girls quickly hide them away within their sparse clothing.

And then, for the first time in the months he had been training them, one of them whispers back, “You’re a lot nicer than our last master,” before slithering away into the cage.


The sound was incredible. Tens of thousands of people all jammed into the stands, chanting and stomping their approval or disproval of the shows going on in the rings below. Many of them had taken up a regular, rhythmic beat to their stomping and clapping, demanding more blood and violence from the gladiators below. If bloodlust had a heartbeat, then this was it.

Never was watching the whole thing idly when Lucius comes up behind him and says, “Xerxes hopes you enjoy the show,” before leaving just as quickly.

Growling, Never watches as one of the hidden elevators lifts the Serpent Sisters, decked out in exotic looking clothes to give them a ‘jungle’ look and carrying a combat ready sword in each hand, into the centre ring. This was not good. The announcer was saying something, but it was hard to hear over the roar of the crowd.

And then their opposition arrives.

Onslaught. The girls were going to fight Onslaught, the most brutal gladiatorial team in the circus. Five of the worst criminals not to be given the death penalty automatically, they were hooked up to combat drug dispensers and their hands were replaced with all manner of messy close combat weaponry. They were the closest thing to Arco-flagellants without involving the Ecclesiarchy that this world had. And the Serpent Sisters would have to fight them.

The chains holding the members of Onslaught back were released with small explosive charges, and like bullets shot from a gun, they were off in a flash, drool flying from their lips as they rushed forward, every manner of moving blade whirring as they spun up their weaponry.

The first one died before he knew what hit him. One moment he was leaping up to plunge a high powered rotary hammer into a skull and a circular saw into a torso, the next he was being suspended by four blades while two others ripped out his internal organs. Tossing the still twitching body aside, the girl blocked an attack from an electro-fail with one of her swords and was forced to drop it as paralytic pulses of energy travelled down the conductive blade. Moving in to exploit the opening with a roaring chainsword, the gladiator was surprised when the girl’s tail wrapped around his ankle and hauled him off his feet. Before he had time to react, the girl had coiled herself around him and with awful slowness began to constrict, crushing bone, and worst of all, increasing the pressure on his already overloaded cardiac system. The combination was too much, and in a gruesome display of the effects of combat drugs and excess stress on the human body, his head exploded.

While this was happening the other sister was busy dealing with the other members of Onslaught in her own way. The first one to reach her had a crackling power fist ready to take her head off, but before the punch could land two pairs of swords became scissors and cut his arm off at the wrist and elbow. Staring dumbly at the stump for a second, the gladiator had little time to figure out his predicament before the third pair rammed through his eyes. Seeing this as an opportune moment to strike, one of his brothers, armed with a chainsword and a jackhammer, moves in for the kill only to discover that the four blades that had removed the arm of the impaled man were free and thus his weapons were caught. While his chainsword did mangle two of the swords, it stalled him long enough for the body of the other gladiator, still dangling from the other two swords, to be used as a battering ram. Knocked off balance, the man jumped to the side and just narrowly avoided being ensnared by the deadly coils. Unfortunately for him, he landed poorly and the spinning blade where his hand should have been bounced back into his chest, ripping him apart.

And then, as suddenly as it began, the fight was all but over. True, the remaining member was by far the toughest member of the team, but for the Serpent Sisters to have wiped out the other four members so quickly spoke poorly for his odds. Flexing his chainfists in anticipation, he carefully watched as the sisters took up positions on either side of him, twirling their remaining swords to readjust their balance. Rearing back, they looked for all the worlds in the Imperium like snakes preparing to strike. The seconds ticked by as the combatants prepared themselves.

When the final strike came, it was so fast and low that the only way to figure out what happened was to reconstruct it from the evidence. It seemed that despite all appearances, the sisters had gone low instead of high, avoiding the deadly chainfists, and instead of striking they had focused on getting by fast, only bothering to attack in passing, each on wrapping a their tails about a foot. With their lower bodies made almost completely of dense muscle and bone, each girl already out massed the gladiator by about fifty to a hundred percent. The momentum ripped the man in three, tearing off his legs, and shattering his pelvis to the point where bone shards sliced open his gut, spilling entrails across the floor.

Still, as a testament to the power of the chemical cocktail flowing through his veins, it took the gladiator a good ten seconds to bleed out, during which time he tried to claw his way forward to get to grips with one of the girls, and two minutes for his body to stop twitching after that.

The crowd was on its feet roaring by the end of the spectacle, some with disdain, most with approval. All the crowds cared for was a good fight, and the total annihilation of one of the best teams was definitely a good fight, even if said annihilation came at the hands of mutants.

Smirking, Never wondered if perhaps he should have informed the other handlers about the fact that the sisters were actually much stronger than they looked and that they could do that constriction attack. Shrugging, he decided that collecting his money from the gambling booths was a good idea and went to go have a nice night on the town.


Returning in the morning Never is both pleased and annoyed to find the Serpent Sisters no longer in their cages. Pleased because this means that his ploy had probably worked; annoyed because lying at the bottom of the cage where they had once been was one of the rosaries he had given to them. With any luck they wouldn’t be separated and they could still be tracked by the other one.

“Oh, did your little frak buddies get carted off?” Lucius asks in a mocking tone while Never examines the scene.

“It would seem that the sisters are no longer here,” Never notes dryly.

Walking in on the scene, Emeril comments, “Yeah, we got an offer for a lot of money after the performance last night. The guy buys a lot of twists off us for some reason, so we couldn’t really turn him down.”

“Really?” Never asks while standing up and shedding some of his masks.

“Yes, why do you ask? You weren’t that attached to them, were you?” Emeril asks.

His voice shifting from its previous accent to a more formal one, Mosegi smiles and says, “No, but they are witnesses in a case of interest to His Imperial Majesty’s Most Holy Inquisition, and if you would be so kind as to come with me Emeril, we can avoid a great deal of unpleasantness.”

“What the…” Emeril does not have time to respond though, seeing as the small steel band on Mosegi’s right hand that was not another piece of the mechanism but a digital weapon had fired. Clutching his neck, Emeril works his mouth soundlessly a few times before collapsing as the paralytic toxin carried by the tiny needle did its work.

Lucius barely had time to respond to this before Mosegi grabbed him by the neck with his augmetic hand and tore out the man’s throat. Spurting blood from the brutal wound, Lucius tries to do anything but ultimately collapses to the ground, blood rapidly pooling about him.

Unpinning the brace about his leg, Mosegi then removes the simple double-barrel shotgun from its hiding place and proceeds to hunt down the other handlers, dispatching them quietly when he can or with the gun when they try and run. Once they all lie dead on the ground, he then goes into the office and breaks out the flamethrowers and the spare promethium while constructing a simple timer.

With Emeril’s unconscious body slung over one shoulder, Mosegi says, “Seeing as how you’re all witnesses, and mutants too, and how I work for an Inquisitor who would rather our prey not know we’re coming, I’m afraid I’m going to have to burn you all to death. Do not worry though, the way I’ve set this up you will all be dead within too minutes, and with all the doors sealed there is no chance of anyone saving you. If it is any recompense, death by purifying flame will be preferable to what Emeril has in store. Good day.”

Mosegi then leaves despite the protest of the mutants, his bomb going off ten seconds after he closes the doors, quickly turning the area into a crematorium. When all was said and done, one could not say that Mosegi was not thorough in his work.

[Master of Cards]

Mayhem check

[Sidewinder]

It was disorientating to read a change in setting, from fighting on open battlefields to going undercover at a circus, but Chapters 8 and 9 remain well-written.

I wonder, though: is Onslaught a reference to the Combaticons from 'Transformers'?

[Academia Nut]

Not particularly seeing as I had never heard of these Combaticons until today. I was really just going for standard 40k gruesomeness and body-modification tendencies for criminals. I chose Onslaught because they used lots of combat drugs, one of the major ones being Slaught, which is short in turn for Onslaught.

[Vehrec]

Well, that went well. A nest of Mutants cleaned out, and maybe two. . . ok, I don't know how you would classify those. Anyways, things are looking good here. Hope there is plenty of honor comming to make up for the surplus of mayhem.

[Academia Nut]

Chapter 10

Stripping off their blood splattered smocks and tex gloves, Darien notes to Mosegi, “You seemed to enjoy that interrogation.”

Shrugging while still smiling, Mosegi replies, “The man was a bastard who was far too lax in his duties to prevent the spread of heretical thought amongst the mutants, and he demonstrated far too little respect for the Emperor.”

“True. So at least now we have a location. Probably just a drop point, but it’s still better than nothing,” Darien notes.

Taking a pin, Mosegi adds the location to the map they have set up, only for him to hear a lazy female voice behind him say, “That’s what you two spent seven hours torturing some poor bastard for? I could have told you about that place.”

“Riva! I take it from your appearance here that your mission in the under-hive went south,” Mosegi notes happily.

Sprawled across a couch, Riva notes sarcastically, “No, I’m just here because an under-hive ganger has so many legitimate reasons to be in the penthouse suite of a supposed visiting Ecclesiarchy bigwig.”

Thinking for a moment, Mosegi shrugs and turns to Darien to say, “I hired her for her boobs, but the tongue is far too sharp for blowjobs.”

Snorting extendedly with a suppressed laugh, Darien smiles as Mosegi dodges the lazily thrown boot aimed at his head.

Smiling smugly, Mosegi then asks, “So what did you find out before you had to run?”

Scratching idly at her now bootless foot, Riva says, “That half the smugglers in the hive drop stuff off at that site. Unfortunately, when I discovered a massive shipment of military grade drugs being sent there I was caught and had to shoot my way out. I don’t think they think I’m working for anyone other than a rival gang, but there is probably going to be some heightened suspicion any way.”

“Throne,” Darien mutters. “Do you have any idea what kind of drugs?”

“Slaught and Spur mostly, but I found one crate full of injectors loaded with something I’ve never heard of before. The labels called it ‘Spook’,” Riva explains.

Cursing again, Darien says, “Okay, we have to hit this hard and fast, before anyone suggests that maybe Riva was an Imperial spy and they all bug out.”

Looking at the map for a second, Mosegi says, “Uh… sir, I don’t know if that is advisable.”

“Oh and why is that?” Darien asks.

Pointing at the map, Mosegi says, “Well, look here sir, just two levels down there is a maintenance route for a major transit spine, perfect way to get goods and people in and out of the site, especially if they have Ad Mech help. With this line they could go literally anywhere in or even out of the city. First sign of trouble they burn their files and evacuate their leaders and within two minutes they’re gone without a trace. That’s a big warehouse and if Riva is right then this is a major operation. They probably have the local police forces wrapped around their finger. If we hit hard we give them enough warning to bug out. If we hit fast then we have to go light and that gives them enough of an advantage that they can buy enough time to escape.”

Looking at the map, Darien scowls and then says, “Damn it, you’re right.”

“Okay, so I’m looking at it like this: currently we have two good infiltrators, Riva and I. We sneak in ahead and figure out how they’re moving in and out. If they are using the trains, we stowaway and then give you a signal. You have the Arbites attack, forcing them to move quickly, reducing the chances that we’ll be caught by an inspection. If they attack goes south, they presume it was just an Arbites raid and move on from there. Meanwhile, Riva and I, once to the location where all this stuff is going, will turn on a locator beacon or something and you can swoop in with those storm troopers I know you brought,” Mosegi explains.

Frowning, Darien says, “I don’t like dividing our forces like that.”

“Can you think of a better plan?” Mosegi asks.

“Probably, but unfortunately that would require time we don’t have. Fine, we’ll do it your way. What signal will you use to tell the Arbites when to attack?” Darien asks.

Receiving blank stares from Mosegi and Riva, Darien hangs his head in exasperation and says, “Right… just tell them to look for the explosion. Try to leave some witnesses.”

“I’ll try to make sure only flunkeys who wouldn’t know anything anyway get blown up,” Mosegi says with a smile.


Despite having worked together for years now, Riva had yet to match Mosegi’s skills at stealth, and it was unlikely she ever would. Hell, it was unlikely anyone outside of the Assassin Temples ever would. The fact that he had been considered to train at one of those temples was a semi-smug fact that Mosegi liked to keep to himself. Still, if he was a ghost’s shadow in the night then Riva was a ghost in her own right.

They had come anticipating heavy, close quarters fighting at some point. Mosegi had his storm bolter with him along with a collection of grenades, although he had to leave his melta bombs behind to conserve weight when he doubted he would encounter much that a melta bomb could take care of that a krak grenade couldn’t handle. Riva for her part had her duel autopistols and a couple of small knives for close range work.

The drop point was a warehouse exposed to the open air, meaning that few people were out and about to notice how busy it was in comparison to the rundown buildings next to it, and if they did notice then they were probably involved or being paid off. Of course, this geographic defence also made them lax in their other forms of defences, making it pathetically easy for the two to slip inside.

Inside there was a small swarm of smugglers and slaves working hard at loading and unloading various goods, ranging from drugs to weapons to mutants in cages. Finding a nice, quiet area, Mosegi discretely slips a remote activated krak grenade into a crate covered in flammable stickers.

Continuing their stealth infiltration of the warehouse they slip deeper in, avoiding the populated areas in favour of more circuitous routes. Twice they had to discretely remove a lone man standing in their way who looked unlikely to move on his own, which while it sped up their infiltration it also sped up the time until someone noticed something amiss.

Finally, after slipping down an elevator shaft that should not have been there according to the city plans they arrived at a hidden loading dock where goods were being placed on a small train. Scurrying from shadow to shadow, they find a corner where crates are stacked in waiting for a servitor to load them on the train. Cautiously opening one and finding it contains bulk materials stuffed with packing pellets. Discretely taking out some of the pellets and trying to scatter them amongst the various other detritus so that it does not appear that they were dumped out by stowaways, Mosegi and Riva cram inside the crate and then seal it shut except for a tiny crack for air and to peek outside.

Waiting tensely for several minutes, they both stop breathing as the servitor picks up their crate and carry it over to the train. Once onboard and secured, Mosegi presses the detonator for the grenade up above, and is satisfied a few seconds later by the sudden blaring of alarms and the panic of the workers. Within a minute they feel the train lurch into motion beneath them, and with a sigh of relief, they both relax as the chances of discovery have just gone down exponentially.

“Cozy,” Riva whispers sarcastically at the way the two of them cram into the tight space together, giving just enough room to breath, but none for personal space.

“I’ve slept in worse,” Mosegi comments dryly.

“But did you have company?” Riva asks.

Making the slightest impression of a shrug, Mosegi says, “No. I never had company while I slept in any case.”

“That’s strange,” Riva comments, picking up on Mosegi’s implication.

“I’m busy a lot, so I’ve never had the chance to form such relationships,” Mosegi says nonchalantly, although the proximity of their faces means that Riva can easily feel the heat of his blushing face.

“Oh, don’t be so embarrassed, you’re the one who brought it up. Don’t see why you’re so shy about it, especially considering how lecherous you can be at times,” Riva notes.

“I… I’m too busy to touch, but not so busy that I can’t look or make the occasional comment,” Mosegi states.

“Speaking of which, you’re doing a lot of touching right now,” Riva replies.

“What? Oh, just give me a second…” Mosegi says embarrassed.

“Don’t worry about it, neither one of us can move. Plus the armour makes it something of a moot point. Finally, I haven’t had any since you made me your aide so I don’t particularly mind,” Riva replies, the last bit somewhat sarcastic and bitter.

“Oh… ah… yeah…” Mosegi replies.

“What? Can’t you think of a wisecrack about my boobs?” Riva snaps.

“Not right now, no. Basically I’ve suppressed my sex drive since I first became aware of it, so it’s probably rather juvenile at the moment,” Mosegi explains in embarrassment.

Giggling cruelly, Riva says, “Ah, so the mighty commissar does have a weak point.”

“Stop wiggling,” Mosegi hisses in horror.

Snickering, Riva stops and whispers seductively, “Tell you what, why don’t I help you out with that problem of yours?”

His blush nearly going into the visible spectrum, Mosegi says, “One, this is a bad time. Two, stop mocking me.”

“Oh, I’m not mocking you, I really wouldn’t mind a good tumble beneath the sheets, especially since I want to see if that stamina you have in long distance marching carries over into other fields,” Riva says.

“Well, the point is moot because something like that would be fraternization,” Mosegi declares.

“Point of note, we’re both now working for Inquisitor Darien and there are no technical ranks, so it would not in fact be fraternization,” Riva counters.

Absorbing this fact, Mosegi asks, “When did you get so smart?”

“When you made me start doing paperwork,” Riva says. She then sticks out her tongue at him, forgetting their close proximity, and inadvertently licks him.

There is dead silence for several breathless moments before Mosegi asks, “Did you just lick me?”

“By accident. Sorry about that,” Riva says, clearly ashamed.

“Umm… yeah… okay, let’s just forget that ever happened,” Mosegi says.

“Fine by me, but you really need to shave more often; your stubble nearly scrapped my tongue off,” Riva complains.

“I said forget it,” Mosegi hisses.

“Okay. Backing up the conversation, it wouldn’t be fraternization because you are no longer my superior officer,” Riva states.

“That may be true, but it’s still not a good idea, especially in such a close knit unit as an Inquisitor’s retinue,” Mosegi says.

“Yeah, but weren’t you conceived by two people in a similar situation?” Riva asks.

Growling slightly, Mosegi says, “That is a completely different scenario, and was bad for discipline in the first place. And don’t you ever bring up my parents again.”

“Fine, fine. How about a compromise? Next time we get smashed drunk, we’ll agree to make sure that when we wake up with hangovers in the morning regretting what we did last night, it will be together,” Riva suggests.

After several seconds of silence, Mosegi says, “That sounds like one of the worst plans I have ever heard. And besides, I have never drunk that much alcohol before.”

“Great! That means you can do two new things in the same night,” Riva says cheerfully.

“I highly doubt any part of you is ‘new’,” Mosegi notes sarcastically.

“See! You’re happier just thinking about it if you can crack jokes like that,” Riva points out.

“Uh huh. Can we just drop this subject for the moment?” Mosegi asks.

“Drop it like pants?” Riva asks.

“No, not pants,” Mosegi replies flatly.

“Skirts then? I always figured you had a fetish for them when you told me I had to wear one. Ooooh… I bet you’re on of those kinky guys that like to leave the skirt on when he’s doing the girl,” Riva suggests.

Groaning in exasperation, Mosegi says, “You’re just trying to annoy me now, aren’t you?”

“What gave it away?” Riva asks sweetly.

“This is going to be a long trip, isn’t it?” Mosegi asks.

“I honestly have nothing better to do, do you?” Riva replies.


Several long hours later and the train arrived at its destination, and Mosegi really hoped for a fight. Not just because Riva had annoyed him, but because she had actually succeeded in making him horny, but because he couldn’t get any, he was noticeably pissed.

Quietly waiting, they again remain as silent as possible when their crate is picked up again. Then, while the possibility of this merely being a waypoint is considered, they exit their crate and slip out to see what is happening.

What they find leaves them open mouthed in shock and horror.

Their crate was tucked away in a corner of a vast room filled in all directions with quietly humming and burbling tanks filled with liquid and lit an eerie blue colour from internal lighting. Suspended in each tank was some form of living thing, ranging from mostly human looking thing to grossly twisted mutants to blobs of flesh that despite their neighbours looked nothing like human beings. Various machines hooked up to the tubes gave arcane, techno-sorcerous readings, discernable only to the Techpriests that maintained them.

Pulling out the tracking device, Mosegi activates it and then tosses it in a corner. With Darien looking over the entire planet with orbital relays, it would only need to be on for about a minute. Still, there was no need declaring to the enemy where he was if they picked up on the signal and started tracking it.

Moving through the strange, shadow-free half-light of the enormous chamber with all their skill at stealth, the two infiltrators wonder at what awful purpose the horrific beings in the tanks served, and why they were here in the first place.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours wandering through acres of this nightmare forest, they find what looks like a small service corridor, perfect for their purposes. Slipping down it, they quickly find a new chamber in this carnival of blasphemy and monstrosity.

The room was crowded with machinery and barrels filled with unknowable and undoubtedly unwholesome substances, and at the centre of it all was a large, sealed operating theatre where several Techpriests operated on something. It was hard to tell if the thing they were working on had ever been human, for every internal organ was hanging in open air, various tubes and wires connecting them back to the main body.

Slipping into the shadows of the machines lining the wall, they wait and listen to the discussion of the operating Techpriests.

“…final analysis of the subject reveals stability of genome, specifically during meiotic division, affecting in as expected by theoretical predictions and previous experimentation. Recommendation to cease control experiments as toxicology is now well understood.”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

“Ceasing experiment.”

The priests then begin methodically disconnecting the various machines and organs, ignoring the pained twitching of the still living being and the blood spurting from the disconnected arteries. Eventually the twitching stops, and the body, along with the organs, are dumped down a chute in the operating theatre. Then numerous sprayers inside the theatre spray down the inside, cleaning away the blood so quickly that there must be an additional agent within the water. The Techpriests simply stand beneath the spray, their augmetics protecting them from whatever solvents are in the shower.

Once the sterilization is done, they resume talking.

“Next subject is… ah, a return patient. Subject L1L11-1T, nicknamed ‘Lilith’, was born in captivity to the 1T line. Eight months ago the 1T line was abandoned as unproductive, and along with subject MA1R1-1T, AKA ‘Mary’, was released into the wild with the hopes that the gene work would carry forward and, under evolutionary pressures, yield more valuable material in later generations. Subjects were recaptured when they demonstrated previously unknown combat abilities. MA1R1 has been forwarded to Outpost Primaris for further work while L1L11 is to remain here. Operations are to include: general tissue sampling, removal of an ovary for accelerated growth work, full frontal lobotomy and installation of control hardware to promote placidity in the forced breeding program. Hormone treatments to accelerate maturation will begin immediately following the program.”

Watching the whole macabre production as one of the Serpent Sisters is brought into the theatre in a sealed box by a conveyor belt, Riva finally asks, “Are we going to do anything?”

“I’m thinking. On the one hand, she is just a mutant, so what do I care? On the other hand, she is useful in a fight. But then again, I don’t want to get us captured by doing something stupid before help arrives. However, they are filthy heretics, so the urge to shoot them is pretty high. Of course, we still need witnesses,” Mosegi whispers back.

“None of them look that important, and they appear to be meticulous note keepers. I say shoot them now and then download everything we can before they start purging their records when Darien shows up,” Riva suggests.

Thinking this over, Mosegi smiles and says, “You had me at ‘shoot them’.”

Popping out of cover, Mosegi and Riva fill the operating theatre with bullets and shells, leaving it a blood splattered charnel house, but this time there would be no clean up. Moving quickly down to the now no longer hermetically sealed theatre, they break open the door and immediately locate the cogitator the priests were using.

“Holy frak, this thing is plugged directly into their mainframe, behind their barriers and everything. The machine spirit will tell us whatever we want. Quick, start copying,” Mosegi says while pulling out blank data slates brought along for just such an eventuality. Plugging them in while rapidly going through the various rites, they then begin dumping as much data as they can.

Once the process is going smoothly, Mosegi then decides to see how Lilith is doing. Protected in a bullet resistant case, probably to keep her from getting out, she survived the barrage that slew those preparing to operate on her and was now staring quietly up at the hard eyed man who had trained her with swords. She was somewhat surprised though when the first thing he did when he cracked open her case was point her gun at her head.

“You are a mutant, judged anathema by Imperial creed, for which the only penalty is death. Will you die here and now, or in service to His Imperial Majesty?” Mosegi asks coldly.

Her young mind trying hard to process this, Lilith finally answers, “I serve you master.”

Shrugging, Mosegi raises his gun and says, “Good enough for now. Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

Slipping out of her cage, Lilith wonders what exactly it is that she is supposed to do until Mosegi starts handing her sharp pieces of surgical equipment, finally saying, “If we find swords we’ll give them to you.”

“So now what?” Riva asks.

Tucking away the last of the data slates, Mosegi shrugs and says, “Find a place where we can bunker down until help arrives, or find something we can blow up.”

Riva just purses her lips at that and says, “So we’re looking for something flammable?”

“Actually, we’re not this time. We’re in an unknown area with unknown disposition of forces with an unknown time until help arrives. I might be reckless at times, but I’m not stupid,” Mosegi says.

“Care to remind me how you got that metal hand again?” Riva asks sweetly.

Pointing an accusing finger, Mosegi replies tersely, “That was a calculated risk that paid off in the end.”

“Did you happen to teach the snake stealth then?” Riva asks, jerking her thumb over her shoulder to point at Lilith.

“Nope, we’ll just have to abandon stealth and go for overwhelming firepower,” Mosegi says.

“We’re two people with limited ammunition and a close combat mutant against Emperor knows how many enemies, who are probably armed with the best equipment the Adeptus Mechanicus can provide, which is to say The best equipment in the Imperium,” Riva points out.

“Force multipliers,” Mosegi says with a grin before looking about and setting a course seemingly at random.

“Is he always like this?” Lilith whispers.

“Usually he’s worse,” Riva says with a shrug.

[Big Orange]

Very, very good Academia Nut, how are they going to get out of that one? I can't wait!

[Academia Nut]

Stupid job taking time away from writing... *grumble**grumble*. Anyway, enjoy this bit of interlude and foreshadowing.

Interlude

My peers think me mad; think me a fool for my theories, my beliefs.

But did not our peers call us mad in the years before the Fall? Did they not, in their arrogance, refuse to see the writing on the wall? No matter how we try and escape it, hubris is the flaw that rests in the bosoms of all Eldar. We have lived for so long, seen and done so much, that we forget ourselves. We become lost in the glories of the past or the mysteries of the future and lose sight of the dangers of the present.

And there is a great danger growing, perhaps as great as the disaster that nearly extinguished our people in a single, terrible stroke, and as with the Fall, it is our fault.

The danger of which I speak is not the Ruinous Powers, the savage Krork, the arrival of the Swarm, or even the awakening of the Great Enemy. No, the danger is with the mon-keigh. So long have we played them the fools that we forget how truly dangerous they really are. If this continues, then it will be us that are the fools in the end.

What we so arrogantly forget about the mon-keigh is that they are evolving. Where we are old and dying, they are still fresh and growing, torturously breaking ground we have already tread. And paths we have never before comprehended. This is where the danger lies, not with what we know, but what we don’t know. We look upon their psykers and laugh at their brutish attempts to wrestle power from the Warp. They are as to us as apes bashing rocks together are to their Titans.

But if there is one thing that I have seen in my observations of the mon-keigh, it is their capacity for chaos. Small ‘c’ chaos. Far too many of my brethren dismiss them as petulant children toying with things they do not understand, and while true for some, the havoc and mayhem they cause unintentionally is truly that: unintentional. How many tombs of daemons have they unwittingly opened, not even knowing they beheld tombs? Too many for chance alone, too few for malicious intent. And how often do the end results end up more positive than negative? Again, just slightly more in one direction than the other, allowing them to just keep their head above the water.

I have studied them for many centuries, and I am coming to an inescapable conclusion. Humans are mayhem given material form, more fundamental than the Krork or the Ruinous Powers. Even the most perverse plot of the Changer of Ways will always end the same: destruction and conquest. As for the mon-keigh, not even they know where they are going. Their capacity for destruction is equalled by their capacity for creation.

And it is this inherent mayhem that will destroy us.

We Farseers ride the currents of fate, steering our people through its murderous riptides and shoals, looking for ways to strike back at our enemies before they even touch us. And we all know that amongst the mon-keigh, their exist individuals around which fate flows fickly and seemingly more at control of the ignorant mon-keigh than those that can read it. For millennia we have dismissed them out of hand, seeing them as simply somewhat more difficult pieces of the puzzle that is divining the future.

But what if fate is not tied to them because of who they, but they are who they are because of fate? What if, with its propensity for mayhem, in its evolution, the human species has begun to produce individuals that have an instinctive grasp over their own destiny? What if they have begun to develop powers that make our Farseers look like the apes pounding away with stones?

For the past two hundred years, I have been studying such individuals, and the more I learn, the more I fear. Some have other powers in the Warp, most don’t, and I am not sure that they are bending the Warp or something more fundamental that causes aftershocks in the Immaterium. Either way, these individuals, while rare, often catapult to important positions, they and their peers never knowing the truth, even under the most careful scrutiny. As beings of mayhem, they seem to work in every which direction, but careful analysis shows that these mon-keigh are constantly advancing the cause of their species.

Mind you, I use the word species carefully, for there are many paths that will ensure the survival of their species. Serving their Emperor until the stars grow cold. Enslavement to the Ruinous Powers, avoiding ultimate destruction. Becoming cattle for the Great Enemy. These, and countless others, are all end paths that the mon-keigh could take to avoid final death.

In all the possibilities I have conjured up, we rarely factor into the endgame. This is because a storm is coming.

When I reach out for the future, I can feel it in the tides of fate, like an old sailor can feel the waves. The mon-keigh I have seen so far are as ominous clouds to the brewing hurricane. Somewhere out in the vastness of their Imperium, there will be an individual who will be the avatar of human destiny. Perhaps not as grand as their Emperor or Primarchs, but perhaps in the end more important. Not because he will do great things, but because his very presence will change things. To what end, I do not know, but this mon-keigh will be the death of us all if we do not prepare. All of our careful preparations, our millennia of planning, will evaporate as the currents we navigate change in the wake of the storm. What was to be will no longer occur as we have foreseen.

And if the Eldar do not factor into the plans of this bringer of storms, we will be smashed upon the rocks.

~Excerpts from the journals of Dubhthach the Mad, Farseer; Black Library

---

Now much is true, and how much is the rantings of an Eldar Farseer considered insane by his fellows? Mwuahahahahahaha!

[Sidewinder]

A good chapter. Does the Farseer's description of "the avatar of human destiny" applies to Mosegi?

And who is the "Great Enemy" the Eldar fear so much? The Necrons? (I'm not as familiar with the world of 'Warhammer 40,000' as I should be.)

[Master of Cards]

A good chapter. Does the Farseer's description of "the avatar of human destiny" applies to Mosegi?

And who is the "Great Enemy" the Eldar fear so much? The Necrons? (I'm not as familiar with the world of 'Warhammer 40,000' as I should be.)

The Great Enemy I think refers in most cases to the forces of Chaos undivided.

[Academia Nut]

It can be really hard some times to sort through the fluff of what exactly the Eldar refer to things, but I was trying for Necrons in that instance. If anyone knows definitely I'll correct it. I know that the Great Devourer is Slaanesh at least.

[Big Orange]

I kinda of thought that Mosegi's nearly invincible character shield and rather wanky combat prowess could be an supernatural extension of fate...

[Academia Nut]

Chapter 11 will be up probably some time tomorrow, although a flash of inspiration might let me complete it late tonight. In this chapter, the plot thickens! Dun dun duuuun!

[warsmith]

HI IM GETTING WITHDRAWAL SYMPTOMS CAN YOU GIVE US AN IDEA WHEN YOU WILL HAVE AN UPDATE FOR THS GREAT STORY!!!!!!

[Master of Cards]

DON"T WRITE IN ALL CAPS
DON"T BUMP A @ MONTH OLD STORY
DON't BE A NOOB

[Big Orange]

DON"T WRITE IN ALL CAPS
DON"T BUMP A @ MONTH OLD STORY
DON't BE A NOOB

Yeah, but I also sorely miss Academia Nut's update on this excellent WH40K fanfiction.