Brother Isaac Clarke, Enginseer

(P)art 1

The Guardsmen were being routed.

 

"GET BACK HERE YOU MANGY DOGS! DO YOUR DUTY TO THE EMPEROR OR YOU SHALL FACE MY WRA-HEAUGH!"

 

The Commissar was interrupted by the blade protruding from his chest. He turned his face to get one look at his killer, and faced naught but a shadow. His last thought as his consciousness faded was how odd it was that a shadow could stab someone. It kinda confused him, made him... sort of sleepy...

He closed his eyes for the last time as a last cough of blood escaped his mouth.

 

It was too much for the guardsmen. Seeing the cohesive leader of their company slaughtered with the ease of a breath bent the last straw, and it finally broke when someone shouted:

"IT'S A MONSTER WE CAN'T KILL THIS THING!"

 

The slaughter resumed in earnest, the Shadow taking its time to butcher the guardsmen too slow or too paralysed with fear to run away from the impending doom.

Only two imperial guardsmen were left. Step by agonisingly slow step, the black creature lumbered over to the two.

 

"Frak this shit, FOR THE EMPEROR!"

She ran forward, pulling out two krak grenades, and bit off their pins. She held them aloft like a torch as she sprinted at the abomination.

 

Too paralysed to do anything, the final survivor was painted red with the detonation, chunks peppering him with soft *Splattt!* sounds.

 

The Shadow remained standing, however. There wasn't a trace of the guardswoman colouring the surface. Feeling a small trickle down the inside of his pants, he stared deeper into the shadow, hoping that it was all a dream.

Gazing into the murky depths of an endless abyss, his mind was already blank as the blade swung down.

 

Nothing...

 

P2

He was in something you'd call a nightmare... again. One of those dreams where you can move and talk and shout and run but it will never do anything.

He was used to it, though.

The nightmare constantly evolved, trying over and over again to crack his will and drive him to the depths of terror.

And frankly, he was bored with it.

Feeling like you're falling isn't a problem when you're used to Zero-G; it's part of Mechanicus standard training!

Being chased by monsters wasn't a problem when you've faced worst than them, and after a while you can plainly tell the pain of being cut and hacked at is only imaginary. Master of your own body and whatnot.

Frankly, there was only one word to describe his feelings.

>"Magos, get up, quickly!"

"Meh."

>"I don't know, general, he seems to be responding!"

>"Then try THIS!"

 

He was ripped straight from his slumber when the cot he was resting on was kicked out from beneath him.

 

"WE SAIDDDDD, GET. UP!" His boots were thrown on his head.

 

Now they were just being mean.

 

"Now that's not very polite, Lord-General."

 

"Maybe. You know what else isn't polite? An Inquisitor -][- " He makes the sign of the Aquila. "knocking on our door in the midst of a battle IN THE MIDDLE OF THE THRONE-FORSAKEN ATMOSPHERE, demanding to see you at the landing bay. I don't know what you did to attract the eye of the spooks, Magos, but you'd best hurry to them. You don't want to be turned into a servitor, do you?"

 

P3

Patrolling the hangar and guarding the other passageway, painted red by the slaughter of the fanatics, were walking troopers, clearly veterans, armed with all sorts of weaponry from hellguns to heavy stubbers, and even autocannons.

 

But the ship was the most telling sign of who they were: with a large emblazoned -]|[- on the side.

 

The Inquisition was here. And so was the Inquisitor himself.

 

Standing as straight as a rail, hands clasped behind his back, was a black man garbed in a light blue overcoat with resplendent gold details. Running his fingers over his bald head, the Inquisitor noticed the Magos and his eyes lit up.

 

"Ah! Finally, someone to convince the machine spirits to cooperate! We were surprised to find out that you were the only Magos on the station, and rather pleased to find one of your skill at hand."

 

The Magos was simply confused now. "Um, my lord, don't you have people in your retinue who do that already?"

 

The Inauisitor suddenly wore a solemn mask on his face, mumbling, "Our tech priest was... he was killed saving the rest of our crew. He sacrificed himself to hold off Tyranids while we made our escape. He was one of my best."

 

Oh... That's what happened. The Magos gave a sympathetic nod to the Inquisitor. "My condolences, Inquisitor...?"

 

"Inquisitor Ditemann. My apologies for being distracted, I'll let you do your job," he pointed to a broken plasma gun on a tripod, "with fixing our Saint-blessed weapon," then pointing to the ship itself, "and we need to fix our engines as well. The machine spirit is refusing to allow us to leave. Our objective is on the planet below us, not on this warp-damned station, even if it IS of vital importance."

 

The Magos bowed to the Inquisitor, and set off to first repair the mounted plasma gun.