The Cats Cradle Burning

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Mature

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Graphic Depictions Of Violence

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Warhammer 40.000

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English

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Published:: 2024-12-09
Words:: 20519
Chapters:: 16/?

ArtistMugi

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Location- ADEPTS MECHANICUS CRUISER ERRATIA;
Date- 5 122.966.M41
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Vats churn slowly, the thick green slime popping and roiling, ripe with misformed, broken shells of what should be perfect specimen.
Before the vats' soft glow, A Senior Magos hunches over a desk, his frustrations churning just like the failures above him."Why wasn't it working?!" He hisses to himself, pouring over countless files both analogue and electronic. The genes all lined up, no strands tore apart, no chromosomal mismatches, no protein malformations.
So why were they so misshapen? Why was it that these wretched things weren't blessed by the omnissiah?! Even the most incoherent drabble, even the most pathetic servitor, is graced in the most meagre of amounts.
Was it something with the felinid genome? Why was it so stubborn in its expression of traits?!He looks up at the vats of flesh, soon to be torn molecule by molecule to glean even the most meagre of genetic information.
They're twisted, gnarled, like knurls on an old tree with asymmetric and gangly limbs.
Even the ones that had made it past infancy, the ones that were sealed into growth vats, ended up with this same disgusting deformation.
All of them unusable for their designed purpose: to incorporate that rare, yet fierce genome into the Imperium's might, like they did with ratlings and ogryn.
To make a "more human" Felinid. One that wouldn't only live on that damned jungle they call a planet, and scatter and aide in every sortie, every deployment.If it were him, he'd find another ground up felinid, pull out their genome, and churn out ten thousand more of these twisted things, in a dogged pursuit of fixing it.
And that's what he first did, when he was handed that beautiful, thick paste of what was once a full felinid. A thick slurry of countless nucleotides, all piled up into one big mass of chromosomes to be teased apart and made more proper.
The ova, a treasure for their experiments, scooped from the gore of their mother, only a few hundred or so pearly beads to which could be toyed with. A scarce amount, considering the magnitude of the project, but they dared not attempt creating replicae (for such a thing was woefully impossible with their technology).But the Senior Magos is an arrogant man. Even with this dwindling number of ova, he never thought failure was an option. He hardly considered waiting for the PCR equipment to come, hardly thought to replicate the genome to allow for more testing.
Barging ahead, he had foolishly used up all of them, artificially inseminating using DNA broken, molded to dominate and overlay any of the disgusting features of the felinid that he had deemed inadequate.
And in his arrogance, he ended up with nothing. Nothing but ruined samples, and a failed experiment.
They wouldn't get a second chance. How the hell could they? They weren't going to wander to a planet countless systems away, just for one Senior Magos' project. Idiotic, bureaocratic restrictions, preventing him from reaching the heights the omnissiah demands of him.
The only way they even got the first sample, was when one felinid was caught and smashed underneath a landing shuttle, scooped up like shit on the floor and wandering its way from hands in systems far away, finally into the Magos' claws.His mechadendrites curl and writhe as he scalds his own head with angry, burning thoughts, still forming countless new experiments to further the project.
He could pull out the genome, yes! Extract it from the malformed neoplastic failures he clung to!
But as he drafts up another plan, the plasteel doors of the lab swish open, and a group of loud binaric squawks ring out in a storm.loud, excited Magi storm in, hauling a heavy cradle behind them. Its wheels squeak, burdened by the massive capsule nestled on it.
Rocking with the thick slurry inside, the pale outline of another product of the experiment."ANOTHER FAILURE? PUT IT WITH THE REST, AND DO NOT DISTURB ME FURTHER." The Senior Magos creaks, his voice loud and grating as he dismissively waves them away."Negative, Senior Magos. The subject's vitals are stable. It is a success" one of them replies in a far smoother tone, as they excitedly draw fluid samples from the vat's base.
The magos spins, his long robes fluttering as he looms over the vat. A success? Surely it must be- His disappointment grows as he sees the specimen..
This one, twisted like the rest. Everything below the knees are mangled and useless. Sure, it has symmetrical limbs, no bare muscle, and there's all the features one would expect, making it the closest they've managed.
But it's still a failure, not a precise and beautiful creation done in a reproduced and stable manner. It's an abberation, a miracle more than it is science, something detestable in the Senior Magos' mind."THIS IS WHAT YOU CALL SUCCESS? THE OMNISSIAH'S LIGHT HARDLY GRACES THIS BEAST" the Senior Magos snaps out.
"Regardless of its blessings, the errors are within tolerance so far." A magos chirps back, passing over a small file.Snatching it up, the Senior Magos reads it briefly before voicing his discontentment once more.
"ITS LEGS ARE USELESS, YOU FOOL. SEVERAL NERVES ARE ALREADY MANGLED, THEIR SYNAPSES SMASHED TOGETHER OR CLIPPED APART. IT'S SPINE EVEN HAS DEFORMITIES ALONG THE LUMBAR AND SACRUM. ARE THESE NOT WHAT FAILURE CONSTITUTES?" He hisses again,"Negative, Magos. These issues seem to be errors in the original genome. No amount of splicing can remove them more than we already have."The senior magos lets out an annoyed flurry of binaric, as countless reports are sent and recieved between the Genetors.
"VERY WELL-" He relents, "PROCEED WITH GROWTH ACCELERATION. TIMELINE PREDICTS A 3 DAY COMPLETION. IT IS NOW REGISTERED AS A SAMPLE PROPER. MAKE UP THE TAG, I CARE NOT TO GIVE IT MY ATTENTION LONGER."
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Monitoring, examining, testing, each one done every hour, fourty-eight times over, as the Magi all keep a careful eye on their last sample.
In what little time they spend away, the magi confirm every last detail of their reports with one another, verifying that every cell's within tolerance, countlessly examining ones and zeroes as they scrutinize the data.And as the third day begins, they all start to hurry, faster than ever. The growth vat's a sensitive piece of equipment, after all; it needs the most scrutinous of care, lest even the fluctuations in the warp taint the sample. But, to the Magi's horror, a small light flickers on the vat. A sign of failure.
"FAILURE DETECTED, LOCATE IT!" they all scramble, taking out fluid samples, examining antibodies and molecular compositions, not to mention the countless other detailsOne of them clicks out, standing and squawking louder than the rest, "IMMUNITY TO THE ACCELERANT AND ITS AGONISTS!" He declares.
Hurriedly, they confirm the toxicity levels, whether the gels within the vat are being partially digested by random enzymes and turned into something far worse.
A Magos pushes a thick syringe in, then out, on the soft capped side of the vat, buzzing as they analyze the sample, the room falls silent. Hands and mechadendrites all stand, one word away from tearing the vat open and pulling the nearly matured specimen out."WHAT OF THE GROWTH? IS IT WITHIN ACCEPTABLE RANGE? DO NOT REMAIN SILENT!" The Senior Magos roars impatiently, breaking the silence.
"..." The Magos holding the syringe finally speaks, "There... is no decay. It seems growth has stalled without decay."
The room relaxes slightly, as the robed figures all cluster around the vat, holding up countless tools.
"Subject shows telomeric decay equivalent to 1.2727899 terran solar cycles. Shall we proceed, Senior?" He calls out, looking at the tall, arrogant man.
"ABORT GROWTH AS OF NOW. PREPARE FOR EXPUNGEMENT OF THE SUBJECT FROM THE VAT. I SHOULD NOT NEED TO SAY SUCH THINGS." The Senior Magos scoffs back.Bolts clack as they get unscrewed, the vat's casing hisses as pressure equalizes and the front hatch opens. An unconscious woman slops out from the vat; her black hair matted down by the thick gels, her skin ashen pale. Sterile waters hose her down, as the Magi pull her from the watery slime and begin their prodding."Gene augmentation of FGF5 confirmed as effective."
"Expression of desired traits full. Ears are confirmed as felinid. Extended tail, noted."
The Magi happily buzz to themselves as they confirm their experiment subject's traits. Finally, they lift the woman to a cleaned table, as they flop the limp body down."GET TO IT, I WISH TO REMAIN IN SILENCE ONCEMORE, WITHOUT YOUR FOOLISH BABBLE." The Senior Magos hisses, annoyed that he must bear a failure's completion.
"Superficial examinations completed. Continuing with surgical examinations." A Magos squawks back, as they quickly ready their numerous arms.
"Augmentations should be implanted, now, yes?" One pipes up, before another chatters back, "Avoid full augmentation. Simple amputation will suffice for now."
"Proceeding."They all hunch down over the sterile steel table, harsh lights glaring down as they slowly drag scalpels across the woman's fish-pallid skin. Peeling back the skin around her knees, they begin the more gruesome of parts, holding up splash guards as they only care to protect the data around them. Buzz saws snap through flesh, drills crack through bone. The twisted stumps get swiftly shorn off, blood vessels anastomised, flesh gets stapled back together just as swift as it was taken apart. Thick metallic stubs are bolted onto the subjects stumps, sealing away the raw skin from the air. Ports get bolted into the thighs, connecting to nerve endings. As they finish, unable to contain their own curiosity, they start their more redundant of examinations, shaving parts of her scalp, drawing her blood, scraping bits of skin off and patching it with coarse adhesive bandages; not a single test gets done with hesitation on her.
Finally sated of their inhuman love of data, they sow back up the rest of her like a stuffed animal, draping her in loose robes and plopped into a solitary room, padded and quiet.
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A day passes, and with it the loose and coarse clothes rustle, a haggard lady rising in her white room, a vague haze, her first experience is that of emptiness.
Unknown smells. An unknown feeling beneath her palms. A dull ache in her thighs, as she prods at the sensitive reddened skin, still fresh from surgery.
She's still raw, unmolded, a blank slate of a human, raised to such an age with zero understanding of herself and the strange novelties around her.Slowly circling the room, she grows accustomed to it rather quickly as if it were her nursery; it's all she's ever known, after all.
But as the hours pass, something new pops up, that grabs her attention.
Voices, she hears them squawk beyond the thick door to her padded enclosure. Her ears twitch, turning forwards as her eyes dilate.
Basal instincts arise: hunger to prey, thirst to water. What is this novelty, could it be something to tear apart? To toy with?
The voices grow loud, as she curles into the corner, ready to tackle anything through the door.And as it slowly opens, she rushes forwards. Or at least she tries.
Her own body's missing something she didn't even know she once had; legs.
Tottering along the side of the room, she hisses as her thighs ache from the pressure she's placed on them. Her ears flatten, her eyes grow wary, as the Magi walk in and loom over her."Subject, you are now designated as R1-N4G59. Follow for further testing."
"..." She doesn't respond. Her stare, unnerving even to the magos."Subject, follow." The magos' squawks call out, as he motions for her to walk behind him. Seeing that she's still stuck glued to the corner, he shuffled over, reaching a mechadendrite and gripping her by the the thigh, dragging her out.
She hisses, clawing at the metal casing with her short nails angrily."Stubborn thing. Your claws cannot pierce metal." He lifts her up, as she quickly stops her struggle, hanging upside down from his mechadendrite's claw.
Carried like an unwanted bag of shit through the ship, she's taken to a larger enclosure, this one with a large glass wall for outside watchers. The floor's bare, aside from a few dusty crates freshly opened after years of inattention and a table tucked against the wall.
Dropped from the clutches of the Magi's claw, she quickly flips onto her palms and thighs. As soon as she hits the floor, she bolts to one of the crates, ducking into it as she looks out with thin, piercing eyes.The smells, the sights; it's all new stimuli, something uncomfortable after she had just gotten accustomed to her white padded room.
Met by a hissing and wary creature, the Magi all buzz, as they start to cluster around the hissing woman, uncaring for her defensiveness, or rather unworried over it."R1-N4G59, steady." The genetor says softly, kneeling down and staring close. She slowly relaxes, as he makes no moves to close the gap between them.
As her eyes lose that wary spark, a different one takes its place; curiosity.
She turns to the crate in front of her, and peeks inside; dusty books, old tools, things she's never seen.
Picking them out, holding them at odd angles, it prompts the genetor to speak up once more."I knew you had the omnissiah's blessings. You thirst for knowledge." He says, rustling in his cloak.
"I will show you something. This should be of no difficulty." He says, before pulling out a rudimentary wax tablet.Drawing one line, then placing a small block next to it, then repeatedly. It's almost shocking, how she seems to hobble over, poking at his movements.
It's a simple game; One for infants, one that took quite a while to figure out for the Genetor, frankly. It was so simple, yet apparently it was a means to teach infants found in countless hive worlds about one thing; arithmetic."Now... you try."
He scatters the blocks, mushing the wax tablet smoothe, taking a step back.She tilts her head, left the right, as she holds out a finger and smushes it into the soft wax. A line gets drawn, then another.
"Remember, blocks." He taps a metal finger onto the cube, causing her head to snap in its direction. Her thin arms reach, lifting it, as she places three cubes onto the two lines.
"No, no. Two... T-w-o" He sounds out, removing one block and tapping on the two of them.
She paws at the cube stolen from her, placing it back as she instead draws a third line down, looking up at the robed figure above her.
"Ah... Correct." He slowly pulls out a bland and dry biscuit, the kind used as rations in every ship of the sector. Holding it in front of her, she sniffs it once, then twice, pulling it from his hand as she stuffs it into her mouth.
"Eat, then we continue.""Eaf" She mumbles out, mimicking his speech with a full mouth. Her voice, quiet, cold,
Swallowing it, she looks down at the pad again, as he expands upon the problems, adding piece by piece.the doors to the observation chamber open, and a second Magos walks in, clicking as he scans the ragged subject.
"She is blessed, yes? How fortunate, we do not have a servitor."
"yes, yes. She seems to show simplicity, yet that can be remedied."
The two Magi talk, distracting her with their half-mechanical voices.
The sounds prick at her ears, as something in her "yis. yis." She mimics, looking with a tilted head at the two.
"Speaking, already?"
"The subject does appear to be neary mature already, it is not surprising it shows such a thing."
"Well, I shall leave it to you. The Senior Magos demands she be learned sooner than later."
"Yes, yes. I shall do it soon enough." He waves off the other Magos, before returning to the lady's studies.The same ritual would repeat itself cycle after cycle, as she soaks up everything taught to her like a sponge eager to devour the ocean.Arithmetic, speech, all understood in no more than a week. Then of sciences, then the creed, then of the omnissiah.As the cycles turn to months, she's handed more than just blocks and a waxy pad, turned from some animal into a proper human.Prosthetics to walk, then a pencil to write, then books to review; she follows behind Magi, an aide to their experiments without any grander goals than to listen to what she is told.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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A strange blend of felinid and pureblooded human traits left her perfectly between the two. Not at all cute (what one would think of with a cat), she's rather sharp faced, already sporting a stoic and focused expression. Her face is almost fully human, not sporting the same snout of a felinid. Her nose, disappointingly to the magos, is squished flat, as if it were trying to form into the small black button felinids usually possess. Her hair, once gunked and slick with the gels of the growth vat, have tuned to their natural state; a bob, starting sleek at the crown and growing shaggy and layered as it moves down the sides of her head. Her bangs, hiding her forehead behind their peicey curls. More hair (not like that atop her head) has grown across her body; A short sleek fur like a cat's, wrapping around her back, shoulders, and sides in a warm black with patches of off-white. Her eyes, characteristically upturned, observant and arrogant, spotlights to which she judges the world around her. She's thin; gangly and short, standing no more than 4 and a half feet from the ground even with her ungainly prosthetics. A short, thin tail sprouts from the base of her spine, black tipped with a greyish white.

Similarly to her looks, Subject R1-N4G59's mind has also develop itself, no longer the same animalistic, nearly feral state she was in at ejection. She's long since graduated from the earliest of learnings, quickly adapting to the pace of the Genetors around her.

Despite the total failure of her origin, project Felian, her rather quick uptake and her blunt yet cautious nature proved it was worthwhile to keep her around. The Senior Magos found it especially resourceful for their current research, fitting old, cheaper patterned bionics and prosthetics to match the fluctuations of voidspace. They didn't need to hack off another servitor's legs for once (for it was always difficult to cleanly chew through the metal and skin cleanly). They had someone right here, someone they could use quite readily. And so they did, constantly affixing varied patterns from the hundreds of forgeworlds onto her limbs, tweaking the outputs and marking it for dozens of variables. and again, the testing continues, Rinae's sat stiffly as her legs get detatched, neurons tugged on as implanted ports in her thighs get unplugged and plugged back in."SUBJECT, DESCRIBE LOCOMOTIVE CAPACITY." The Senior Magos squawks loudly, glaring coldly at the short lady.
As she hops up, feeling the weight of the rather odd prosthetic, an Agripinaa pattern, with twisted peglegs shaped for the irregular footing in launch bays.
"Average" She says in an equally cold tone, rocking the motors in every which way. Her gait hardly suggests this though, as she wobbles back and forth.
Clicking at R1, the Senior Magos is quick to point such a thing out. "DATA SUGGESTS BELOW OPTIMAL VALUES. CORRECT STATEMENT."
R1 curtly nods, moving the knees back and forth and finally feeling the slight clicking as the joints seem to bind. "Confirmed. Below average. Binding seems to occur in the knee."
"MY OPTICS ARE FAR GREATER THAN YOURS, SUBJECT, SPARE THE EXPLANATIONS" He hisses, as if her voice itself were worse than the grating of steel in his ear.

He was here only by a reluctant necessity, still bitter about this short reminder of his own failures.
Cushy officers of the Navis Imperialis had thrust this entire project onto him, a genetor of all things, uncaring of his beloved biologics to focus on the interfacing of skin and steel.
It was their insistence that led to the interaction; they were adamant that the prosthesis be effective and comfortable for the pampered higher-ups and nobility who ended up missing a limb or two.

The Magos' mechadendrites grip the metal ports in her thighs, unplugging the nerve cords and quickly bolting a new pattern onto her legs.
"CONFIRM EFFICACY OF NEXT PROSTHESIS PATTERN."
"Sub-optimal. Motors pose issues with port interface. Permanent attachment leaves room for modification."
"GRAIA-PATTERNING IS INSUFFICIENT AS WELL THEN. REMOVE DEVICE, PREPARE FOR ATTACHMENT OF SELVANUS-PATTERN PROSTHETICS."
Another reworking, another time the ports are torn out from her thighs. Each time they get pulled out, they click from the metal coils that connect to her nerves. It feels like glass shards are being pulled from her stumps, but she hardly reacts; it is her duty as a test subject, after all.
A short reworking of the internals, and she stands to test it. Not more than a few steps later, and the prosthetic crunches loudly. Wires tangle, as the motors begin whining."POINT OF ERROR CONFIRMED. STAY STILL." The magos screeches in binaric, as he storms over and rips out cables, reworking them into the proper configurations.
Motors are pulled, quickly respooled as dozens of rites are performed at once. The burning scent of sacred resins mix with the acrid sulfurous scent of the oils in the machinery, as the magos chants exerpts of the Cult mechanicus with every action. His metal hands pull back, as he squawks out oncemore.
"PROCEED."
She walks again. This time, the motors run smoothely, nothing snags, although the woman's walk is still disjointed.
"DOES IT NOT COMPENSATE FOR THE CEREBELLAR MALFORMITIES?"
"Moderately so, Senior Magos." She says in her usual monotonous tone.
He scoffs, as if the blame was entirely on her, before speaking back. "THE CURRENT CONFIGURATION WILL SUFFICE FOR THE TIME BEING. CONTINUE NOTING POTENTIAL ADJUSTMENTS DAILY."
Without hesitation, the Senior Magos turns his attention to other duties. Reports pass from the servo-skulls around him, clicking as shutters and recordings transfer.
The subject, meanwhile, pulls back to the piled up bookshelves and file cabinets she's been forced to read through. The other genetors refused to allow such a subject to go without the grace of knowledge; she was one of the omnissiah's blessed experiments, after all.No more than an hour pass before the genetor magos clinks back, squawking in binaric before shifting to a more comprehensive language.
"CONFIRM STATUS ON STUDIES, SUBJECT."
She sets down the thick, crusted book, well worn by countless mechanical claws that have flicked its pages for decades on end.
"I have finished 3 chapters, Senior Magos. The other books that have been finished are all sorted there-" She nods to an orderly pile of books, recently disturbed from their dusty sleep in an old crate.
As the Magos' eye scopes out, scanning each title, he clicks in annoyance.
"THE TACTICA AERONAUTICA WAS NOT ASSIGNED FOR READING."Her tail flicks as she looks up with an adamant glare. "Its contents were relevant to the books assigned. Am I not supposed to understand that which I read, Magos?"
He clicks a few times, a bit taken aback by such a strong determination in her eyes. Sighing, he waves his hand, suggesting that he care for it longer.
"VERY WELL. NEXT TIME, CONFIRM BEFORE COMMENCING SUCH ACTS. A DISOBEDIANT SUBJECT IS ONE THAT WILL BE DISCARDED."
"I understand." She nods, before standing and going to the heavy crate nearby. Rustling through, she pulling out a few dusty books, stacking them by her feet.
"These are things I believe will aide in my learning. Is that sufficient?" She says, her tone clearly not caring if he truly does.
These books, not at all relevant to her understandings of the cult mechanicus' inner workings, nor to the pursuit of knowledge. These were books on war, on tactics, on the movements of ships in relation to the stars. Books on the Imperium and its creed, on its workings, on countless things all revolving around this pursuit of war.

He leans over, sorting the books alphanumerically (not necessary, but rather compulsive at this point for the genetor). Each book, he scoffs at, as if the next book could possibly not be worse.
"I HARDLY SEE A POINT. I WILL PERMIT SUCH READINGS ONLY IN BREAK PERIODS. YOU SHALL BE EXAMINED IN 18.23 HOURS. FURTHER TESTING WILL BE BENEFICIAL WITH THIS INCORPORATED LEARNING."
"Affirmative, Senior Magos..." She says, her voice trailing off as her gaze flicks to the clean covers of something new in her enclosure; a thick pile of files recently placed upon the desk.
"INTONATION DEEMED INADEQUATE. STATE YOUR THOUGHTS, SUBJECT." He towers over her, his voice loud and shrill.
"These are?" R1 picks one of the folders up, flicking through it and scanning its contents.
"REPORTS ON THE SUBJECTS TESTING. NOTHING MORE." He paces slowly, condescending and slow.As she reads through it, one result stands out, printed in bold amongst the files.
"Result: Failure. Additional testing required."
Not only for the tests on her prosthetics is this phrase recounted. In other files too, the same cold font screams it out at her.
But why? She hadn't failed, or so she thought. Failure wasn't an option, after all.
Raising an eyebrow, she turns to the Magos, speaking up.
"It states failure repeatedly. Why is this? Testing does not seem to have poor outcomes.""DO NOT OBJECT THE FINDINGS, SUBJECT. THEY ARE FAR GREATER THAN YOU, AS DATA OUTWEIGHS YOU TENFOLD. YOUR MARGINES OF ERROR ARE GREAT, EVEN FROM CREATION. DO NOT FORGET THIS." He hisses, annoyed that he's forced to even clarify such a thing."I AM FORCED TO BEAR YOUR HIDEOUS PRESENCE WITHOUT END, AM I NOT? TROUBLE ME NO FURTHER IN THIS REVOLTING TOPIC." He glares, his metallic fingers twitching as he impatiently stands over her.The words sting, making her ears flatten to her head.
"I understand, Senior Magos." She lets out a strained voice, stopping herself from hissing each word.The Senior Magos nods, as if he were waiting for her frustrated voice."CONTINUE YOUR STUDIES FOR NOW. I WILL BEAR YOUR PRESENCE NO LONGER." The Senior squawks, as he waves dismissively.
His long robes rustle as he glides out of the testing chamber, and back into the cluttered lab he thrives in.
She snaps the folder shut, placing it back down with a bitter taste on her tongue.
"How dare he suggest such a thing?!" She thinks, a petty fuel tossed on the slow burning fires in her.
"If that's how it's going to be, I'll show you damn well I'm greater." She thinks, turning back to the books with emboldened vigor.
And that fire'll keep her going for as long as she'd be there, unable to tolerate the haughty glare of the Senior Magos.
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Location- ADEPTS MECHANICUS CRUISER ERRATIA;
Date- 5 296.967.M41
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"So... This is the one who has been testing the prosthesis?"The tall, leatherclad Commissar watches the woman, as she peers over a table of figurines.
"What's she doing now?"
"NAVAL SIMULATIONS, COMMISSAR. WE BELIEVE YOU WILL FIND IT AMUSING AS A DEMONSTRATION."
The tall man leans closer, watching her shuffle little metal pieces across the table.
A genetor, as her opponent, is faring poorly.
"Quite a one-sided offense, no?"
"AFFIRMATIVE, COMMISSAR. SHE SEEMS TO ENJOY SUCH GAMES."The commissar grins, as he walks up to the plasteel door of the testing room.
"Allow me a closer look, Genetor."
"AFFIRMATIVE, COMMISSAR. I SHALL DO SO PROMPTLY. UNKNOWN STRESSORS MAY PROVE EFFECTIVE IN TESTING."
The door loudly opens, as the tall man slinks in quietly, his shadow slowly passing over the short woman.She's engrossed in the game, not noticing him as she continues sneakily trapping the genetor's spread out vessels.
Her current plan; ambushing from behind the dense astroid fields to chip away at the separated ships.
The opponent in question seems irritated at her persistent and stubborn offense."A well fought war effort, subject." His snake-like voice finally breaks her concentration.
Her ears swivel, twitching as her head follows in tow.
She quickly stands and salutes "Affirmative, sir."His long fingers point to a point in the frontlines, as he speaks.
"You will fail in such a path." He grins widely. His amiable yet threatening nature, apparent even to someone as tonedeaf as her.
"Affirmative. Tactics have been adjusted in advance." She mutters back, getting engrossed oncemore into the game."It is rude to intervene so soon, Commissar..." The genetor squawks, as he loathes his plot being brought to light.
"Oh? How rude of me. Continue." He steps back to watch the two's plots unfold.a sudden push in the offense, right at the targeted weakpoint, timed perfectly with the retreat of the frontlines.
Her light units gather to a ridgeline, being pushed back by the sudden introduction of the genetor's heavily armored cruisers.Soon enough, and she's been pushed out of the . Units garrisonned in wait, unbeknownst to the genetor.
Her tail, twitching in anticipation, as she leans in.
her voice, chirping, as she watches the genetor push right into her plan.
Dozens of clustered mines, glued to the sides of small asteroids, demolish the slow heavy weapon teams. Her fleet quicky pushes through in a spearhead, razing their way across the starfield.
In only a few turns, the rest of his fleet has been completely annihilated.
A resounding victory against the genetor, and the Commissar quickly leaves the testing chamber, grinning."An excellent display, Magos."
"I SUSPECTED SUCH REACTION."
"Are her other matches of a similar result?"
"SHE HAS A VICTORY RATIO OF 3.9228."
"Is that so?" The commissar pauses for a moment, before leaning close.
"If you have no use of the subject, I would suggest formal ensignment. Seeing such a bright mind go to waste as a servitor would be looked down upon."
"I CONCUR. SUBJECT HAS NO PLANNED EXPERIMENTS PAST 029.968.M41. IF REQUESTS ARE DONE SMOOTHELY, ENSIGNMENT MAY BE A VIABLE OUTCOME."
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The next few quartums pass quickly, testing slowly wanes as repeated samplings sate the genetors' waning attention.
Kinks in the prosthetics are wrung out, sufficient enough for even her to walk without issue.R1-N4G59's studies continue, as she becomes enraptured by tactics and warfare.
The naval simulations, a fond pasttime for passing time under the guise of learning.Soon enough, orders arrive with the Commissar's return.
"We meet again, Subject."
"Affirmative, Commissar."
"As of today, you are a member of the Navis Imperialis, under the name Rinae. Serve the Emperor well." He grins, as she is handed the uniform of an armsman.
"Your studies have qualified you the position of tactician, if you demonstrate such learnings in the field."
The tall man salutes, as he turns.
"We will depart immediately."She trots behind him, keeping pace with his long strides as she excitedly follows.
War, something she's only experienced through words and simulations, enraptured her since the day she first conducted a war simulation.
And, to her enjoyment, actual war would serve an equal sense of fulfillment in her service over the next 40 years in the Navy.
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---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------//TIME CORD. T 10:4312//INITIATE.RITE.RECOLLECTION//RECORD.Y4RA-9.8...//CLEARANCE LEVEL- OVERWRITTEN//COMMAND INPUT RECOGNIZED- HISTORITOR VERGOS MAXILLIAN---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ACCESS GRANTED.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------++ BEGIN ENCRYPTED MESSAGE ++//PROJECT FN31;//PROJECT STATEMENT- IMPROVEMENT OF FELINID (HOMO SAPIENS HIRSUTUS) GENE SPLICING WITH HUMAN (HOMO SAPIENS) GENOME FOR WIDESPREAD DEPLOYMENT;//INVOLVED PERSONNEL- 11 MAGOS BIOLOGIS NEURALIS, 3 MAGOS BIOLOGIS, 1 COMMISSAR OF THE NAVIS IMPERIALIS;//SITE OF PROJECT- ADEPTUS MECHANICUS CRUISER ERRATIA;//PROJECT STATUS- TERMINATED, FAILURE TO RESULT IN REPRODUCABLE ARTIFICIAL INCUBATION;---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------//PROJECT DETAILS;//PLANET OF ORIGIN- CARLOS MCCONNELL, GENOME OF UNAGUMENTED FELINID ACQUIRED. EXTRACTED TO LATHE CLASS MONITOR CRUISER AD MONIACUM;//GENOME TRANSFERRED TO ADEPTS MECHANICUS CRUISER ERRATIA;//PROJECT RITUAL OF CONDUCANCE PERFORMED- 5 616.965.M41;//UTILIZED FELINID GENOME ACQUIRED FROM CARLOS MCCONNEL, aCGH GENOME-WIDE ASSAY CONDUCTED;//10 LOCI IDENTIFIED AS PROBLEMATIC FOR STANDARD EMPLOYMENT; FGF5, FGFR3, KRT71, LHX2, COL1A1, COL1A2, VLDLR, POMGNT1, FHSG1, SMN1;//GENETORS ABLE TO ADDRESS FGF5- REGULATE HAIR GROWTH, INCREASED SEPTIC AND ONCOGENIC FACTORS, EASIER REGULATORY ABILITY WITH LESS FUR;//GENETORS ABLE TO ADDRESS FGFR43- INSERTIONS TO DECREASE LIKELIHOOD OF OVERACTIITY, PRODUCES SMALLER THAN EXPECTED ADULT. INFANT MORTALITY RATE INCREASED BY 43%;//GENETORS ABLE TO ADDRESS KRT71- ADDITION TO FGF5, ASSISTANCE IN REGULATING HAIR OVERDEVELOPMENT, ALLOWS GREATER TEMPERATURE REGULATION MODIFIABILITY;//GENETORS ABLE TO ADDRESS LHX2- INSERTIONS INCREASED FOREBRAIN DEVELOPMENT, HIGHER SENSORY CORTEX INNERVATION, GREATER COGITATION CAPACITY;//GENETORS ABLE TO ADDRESS COL1A1- COLLAGEN PRODUCTION LOWERED, PREVENTION OF ABNORMALITIES IN FELINID CANINE MACRODONTIA;//GENETORS ABLE TO ADDRESS COL1A2- COLLAGEN PRODUCTION LOWERED, PREVENTION OF ABNORMALITIES IN FELINID CANINE MACRODONTIA;//GENETORS PARTIALLY ABLE TO ADDRESS VLDLR- REDUCED RECURSION DURING RUNAWAY MYCLONAL IMPULSE EVENTS. STILL PRESENT, TO LESSER DEGREE. CEREBELLUM STILL SMALLER THAN DESIRED;//GENETORS PARTIALLY ABLE TO ADDRESS POMGNT1- SLIGHT CORRECTION FACTOR IN INSERTIONS ALLOW FOR EFFECT TO ONLY OCCUR ON OCULAR NEURONS, PREVENTATION OF BRAIN MALFORMATION AND CONGENITAL MUSCULAR DYSTROPHY SUCCESSFUL;//GENETORS UNABLE TO ADDRESS FSHG1- PLACEHOLDER NAME FOR EXHIBITED OVERSENSITIVITY TO CONTACT. PROBLEMATIC. UNABLE TO IDENTIFY GENE RESPONSIBLE;//GENETORS UNABLE TO ADDRESS SMN1- MAJORITY OF OFFSPRING, RATE OF OCCURENCE = 0.76, SHOW MOTOR NEURON DEATH BEFORE INCUBATION PERIOD END. SUGGESTS LINKAGE WITH OTHER VITAL GENES, UNABLE TO CORRECT;---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------//TRIAL ONE RESULTED IN 76 FERTILIZED EMBRYO;//RATE OF PRE-GROWTHVAT SPONTANEOUS ABORTION- 68.421% (N=52);//RATE OF GESTATIONAL FAILURE- 100% (N=24);//PROJECT SUSPENDED, GENOME REASSEMBLED TO ADDRESS ISSUES IN COL1A1 EXPRESSION AND SMN1 OCCURENCE;//PROJECT REINSTATED, FURTHER TESTING SHOWS GREATER PRO;//TRIAL TWO RESULTED IN 27 FERTILIZED EMBRYO;//RATE OF PRE-GROWTH VAT SPONTANEOUS ABORTION- 48.148% (N=13);//RATE OF GESTATIONAL FAILURE- 57.142% (N=8);//REMAINING EMBRYO SUCCESSFULLY GROWTH PAST GESTATIONAL PERIOD;//RATE OF ADOLESCENT MORTALITY- 83.333% (N=5);//REMAINING SUBJECT DESIGNATED R1-N4G59. SOLE INHERITOR OF GENOME;---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------//DESCRIPTION OF SPECIMEN R1-N4G59;//HEIGHT AT COMPLETED VAT GROWTH- 42.988 INCHES;//ESTIMATED DECAY ON TELOMERES SUGGESTS VAT GROWTH TERMINATED EARLY. AGE ESTIMATED AT 1.2727899 TERRAN SOLAR CYCLES;//ACCELERATED GROWTH RATE EXHIBITED. MAXIMUM GROWTH ESTIMATED TO BE ACHIEVED IN 2 YEARS TIME. MENTAL MATURATION ESTIMATES REMAINS UNCHANGED;//HEIGHT AT MATURATION- 55.212 INCHES, 45.375 INCHES ACCOUNTING FOR REMOVAL OF BELOW THIGH;//SEX- FEMALE;//CROSS-GENE VIABILITY UNCERTAIN, UNABLE TO TEST;//AVERAGE WEIGHT AT MATURATION OVER 48 HOUR PERIOD- 98 LB;//AVERAGE RESTING METABOLIC RATE- 1.018 KCAL*LB*HR;---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------//DEVIATIONS IN FORM;//LACK OF MOST FUR ACROSS BODY, EXPRESSION IS HUMAN-DOMINANT. PLACES IN WHICH EXPRESSION IS SEEN ARE ALONG SPINE;//PRESENCE OF TAIL, ENLARGED CANINES, AND ALTERED PUPILS;//LACK OF HUMANOID EARS. FELINID EARS EXPRESSED;//SCANS SHOW GREATER THAN EXPECTED FRONTAL LOBE COMPLEXITY. HIGHER COGITATION, GREATER OUTCOME;//REPRESSION OF CEREBELLUM EXHIBITED, RESULTS IN POOR LOCOMOTION AT TIMES. NOT CONSTANT, REASON UNKNOWN;---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------//DEVIATIONS IN BEHAVIOR;//MOTOR FUNCTIONS APPEAR SUBOPTIMAL. SLIGHT ATAXIA, SHORT LIVED EPISODES. ESTIMATED TO INCREASE IN LATER AGE;//MONITORING SHOWS GREATER CALORIC INTAKE THAN AVERAGE BASELINE HUMAN;//SUBJECT SHOWS FELINID BEHAVIORS, CLAWING, CHIRPING, SLEEPING IN HEATED LOCATIONS OUTSIDE NORMAL BASELINER TOLERANCE;//SUBJECT SHOWS FELINID PHYSICAL RESPONSES TO STIMULI IN THE TAIL AND EARS;//MODERATE COMBATIVE ABILITY. LACK OF NATURAL OFFENSIVE CAPABILITIES, SUPPLANTED WITH WEAPONRY;---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------//DISPLAYS OF ABILITY;//GREATER TENACITY EXHIBITED IN ABSOLUTE CONFLICT RESOLUTION. COMMISSAR STAFF'S APPROVAL NOTED;//TENDENCY TO RESORT TO PUNISHMENT OF INSUBORDINATION. COMMISSAR STAFF'S APPROVAL NOTED;//TACTICAL PROWESS NOTED. COMMISSAR'S REQUEST OF TRANSFERRENCE TO TACTIAN ROLE NOTED;//SUBJECT NATURALIZED VIA RENAMING, LEGALIZED CITIZENSHIP ACQUIRED. SPECIFIC ID- RINAE;---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------//ADDENDUM;//BY AUTHORITY OF MAGOS GENETUS B-38-N12;//THE REQUEST OF COMMISSAR IRO WINSTEAD HAS BEEN NOTED AND CONFIRMED;//UPON INQUIRY TO CAPTAIN MORGAN PHOS, VIA ASTROPATHIC CHOIR;//TRANSFERRENCE OF SPECIMEN R1-N4G59 TO NAVIS IMPERIALIS APPROVED. APPOINTED ROLE AS ARMSMAN ABOARD LIGHT CRUISER AERYNE;//COMMISSAR PERMISSION FOR TACTICIAN ROLE GRANTED IF INDIVIDUAL R1-N4G59 PROVES EFFECTIVE IN ADMINISTRATION OF COMMANDS.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------//ADDENDUM;//BY AUTHORITY OF MAGOS GENETUS B-38-N12;//AND RITES OF THE COMPANIONS OF VOGEL;//NO FURTHER TESTING SHALL BE CONDUCTED USING ACQUIRED GENETIC SAMPLES OF HOMO SAPIENS HIRSUTUS;//FOR THE EXPRESS PURPOSES OF PROJECT FN31;---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------//ADDENDUM;//BY AUTHORITY OF MAGOS GENETUS B-38-N12;//AND RITES OF THE COMPANIONS OF VOGEL;//NO FURTHER CALLINGS SHALL BE CONDUCTED ON SURVIVING INDIVIDUAL R1-N4G59;//FOR ADMINISTRATIVE SANCTITY AT THE REQUEST OF GENERAL STAFF OF NAVIS IMPERIALIS;---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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>>REPORT CODE Y.5.95;
//UNDER AUTHORITY OF COMMISSAR IRO WYNSTEAD;
//A COMPILED REPORT OF INSTANCES OF LIEUTENANT RINAE'S DISCIPLINARY ACTION AGAINST CREW MEMBERS AND INDENTURED WORKERS;
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>>INCIDENT 1
//TIME- 5 209.969.M41
//OFFENDING PARTY- 3 INDENTURED WORKERS
//DEFENDING PARTY- ARMSMAN RINAE
//OFFENSE- BLOCKING OF DUTIES AS ARMSMAN. NOTABLE INVOLVEMENT IN TRYING TO ACQUIRE SMALL ARMS
//RESULTING DAMAGES- 2 MINOR GLANCES TO NONSTRUCTURAL BEAMS IN PORTSIDE SECTION H17. 1 INDENTURED WORKER DEAD, 2 WITH ARM AND LEG BURNS FROM LASPISTOL.
//COMMISSAR NOTICE- ARMSMAN RINAE'S PUNISHMENT DEEMED INADEQUATE. SUBSEQUENT EXECUTION OF OFFENDERS.
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>>INCIDENT 2
//TIME- 5 326.970.M41
//OFFENDING PARTY- 1 INDENTURED WORKER;
//DEFENDING PARTY- ARMSMAN RINAE
//OFFENSE- SPAT ONTO UNIFORM, ATTEMPTED ASSAULT;
//RESULTING DAMAGES- LARGE BLOOD SPILL IN STARBOARD SECTION H2. OFFENDER SUFFERED PUNCTURED FEMORAL ARTERY VIA STUBGUN, FATAL;
//DEFENDING PARTY REPORT- CLAIM OF SPITTING ON THE EMPEROR'S SYMBOL. SUBSEQUENT ARGUMENT OVER DEMANDS OF FEALTY LED TO ASSAULT, AND RESPONDING CORRECTION OF BEHAVIOR;
//COMMISSAR NOTICE- ARMSMAN RINAE'S PUNISHMENT DEEMED ADEQUATE. LOYALTY REAFFIRMED BY CONFIRMATION OF INCIDENT.
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>>INCIDENT 3
//TIME- 5 062.971.M41
//OFFENDING PARTY- 3 INDENTURED WORKERS
//DEFENDING PARTY- ARMSMAN RINAE
//OFFENSE- ATTEMPTED ASSAULT OF DEFENDING PARTY
//RESULTING DAMAGES- 3 DEAD, UNABLE TO ID DUE TO WOUNDS.
//DEFENDING PARTY REPORT- ATTEMPTED ASSAULT WITHOUT ANY JUST CAUSE. SUBSEQUENT PUNISHMENT BY MAIMING. INTENDED LETHALITY.
//COMMISSAR NOTICE- PRAISE GIVEN, BOSUN OF SECTION PUNISHED WITH MINOR DUTIES FOR OCCURENCE.
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>>INCIDENT 4
//TIME- 5 434.974.M41
//OFFENDING PARTY- BOSUN RINAE
//DEFENDING PARTY- 1 VOIDSMAN
//OFFENSE- MINOR ASSAULT WITH NO MALICE.
//RESULTING DAMAGES- MINOR PUNCTURE WOUNDS TO VOIDSMAN'S HAND
//DEFENDING PARTY REPORT- VOIDSMAN GRABBED SHOULDER, WITHOUT AGGRESSIVE ACTION. REACTIVE NATURE OF BOSUN RINAE. PUNISHMENT REQUESTED BY OFFENDING PARTY
//COMMISSAR NOTICE- BOSUN RINAE REPRIMANDED FOR ACT. MINOR PUNISHMENT GIVEN.
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>>INCIDENT 5
//TIME- 5 881.974.M41
//OFFENDING PARTY- 2 INDENTURED WORKER
//DEFENDING PARTY- BOSUN RINAE
//OFFENSE- ATTEMPTED THEFT OF WEAPONRY.
//RESULTING DAMAGES- MINOR DENTING OF WEAPONS LOCKER IN PORTSIDE SECTOR A5.
//DEFENDING PARTY REPORT- OFFENDING PARTY RESPONSIBLE FOR CARRYING OILRAGS NEARBY, FOUND MESSING WITH LOCKS ON WEAPONSLOCKER. UTILIZED PROSTHETIC TO BLUDGEON OFFENDERS.
//COMMISSAR NOTICE- BOSUN RINAE'S PUNISHMENT AND OBSERVATION DEEMED ADEQUATE. CONSIDERATION TAKEN INTO ACCOUNT FOR ADDITION TO POTENTIAL CANDIDATES FOR PROMOTION.
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>>INCIDENT 6
//TIME- 5 461.975.M41
//OFFENDING PARTY- 2 VOIDSMEN;
//DEFENDING PARTY- SERGEANT-AT-ARMS RINAE;
//OFFENSE- INSULTING OF CAPTAIN MORGAN PHOS;
//RESULTING DAMAGES- 1 TABLE DAMAGED, 4 FOOD TRAYS DESTROYED;
//DEFENDING PARTY REPORT- IN MESS HALL, RANK ADMINISTRATION QUESTIONED BY VOIDSMEN, DARED STATE THAT CAPTAIN IS FOOLISH FOR HAVING ABHUMAN OFFICER. SUBSEQUENT PUNISHMENT INVOLVED BLUDGEONING WITH NEARBY EMPTY FOODTRAY;
//COMMISSAR NOTICE- SERGEANT-AT-ARMS RINAE'S PUNISHMENT DEEMED INADEQUATE. VOIDSMEN MADE TO WORK IN HYDRAULICS;
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Location- DAUNTLESS CLASS LIGHT CRUISER AERYNE, STATIONED OUTSIDE KORSK II;Date- 5 210.996.M41----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Upon indoctrination and naturalization, the young gene-project was stripped of her short-lived code of R1-N4E, and a new name was branded to her; Rinae.It's uncaringly simple, nothing but a numeronymic translation of her experiment number given as she was shoved into a ship.Ever since, she's been in service to the Navis Imperialis. Thirty years, Thirty long, tiresome years; they've treated her no better than men far stronger that once stood beside her.Her hair's lost most of its luster, now a matte mixing of black and white, a few grey hairs popping up here and there.A few scars dot her once soft skin, countless thin lines marking her body like a nearly-butchered beast, all traces of the shrapnel she's eaten and spat back out.And even though her age is getting to her, her glare's only grown sharper with every year.She's not down for the count yet, at least. (WIP)She's proud of it, of her service record, of that line of shiny emblems that sits on her chest.It's a sign of her life, of every show of force, of every successful mission and bombed land.Hell, she had even gotten some brief praises for her disciplinary actions, which were rather frequent considering how easy of a target she was at first.It was with great satisfaction that she did so, too.Being able to knock fools down a few pegs always gave her a great sense of accomplishment, despite the fact that she never thought herself a rather war-hungry person. (WIP)Every time some wasteland-bound armsman tried to overstep their bounds and rank, she'd be there to slam them back into place.She was there as a bulwark against disobedience; she'd not tolerate anyone's insolence towards her, nor the Navis.But Rinae's no commissar; She had actual duties, wars to fight.The very teams she once shuffled munitions for as an Armsman now sat firmly under her thumb.Although her role as leader was given through succession of the dead veterans she once followed, her success rate was high enough that she was never reassigned.She was hardly a masterful tactician, nor someone who has saved every soul aboard her flight team, but her combat records were remarkable nonetheless.But that's all past history, something she hardly holds in regards right now; there's something far more important.The Imperium's war-machines march once more, the turbines and engines of fighters flare and scream, and crewmates rush to fill outbound fighters with fuel.Her role in the eternally marching war-machine is fully at play, and Rinae couldn't be more pleased.Not for the fact that she's serving in war, not for the fact that she must brutalize an already beaten down world; It's because it's her who was called upon.It's not a particularly difficult mission, it's merely the suppression of outlying rebel factions on Korsk II.The planet had recently undergone a major revolt, its agriculture-rich lands churned with the broken corpses of those who dared push back.The Space Marines made short work of that, as they always did, cutting their way though the pig-masses like butchers, capping their heads for all to see.Only a few garrisons actually remained, tucked in the more mountainous sectors spread across the planet's surfaceRinae was quite ready to blitz them straight to rubble, but that must wait. Sortie's due in an hour.Her short stature stands proud atop a crate; it's the only way she could ever peek over everyone else's heads, but she's determined to watch them all like hawks.Beneath her gaze, the Armsmen and Bosun all scurry, loading up munition racks and repeating orders to servitors that slowly clunk next to them.It's hectic, frantic as it always is in a pre-mission rush, but her scar-torn ears still listen to every word that passes her crew's lips.Some short lived barks about loading order, someone's frustrated yaps at a servitor's bumbling arms.It's all nothing to focus too hard on, but one noise taps out that makes her ears twitch. It's footsteps, ones aimed for her.Turning to its source behind her, she looms over a thin man who comes up to her pile of crates."Second Lieu-""Quickly." She cuts him off, too impatient for the formalities he offered."Captain Phos wishes to discuss a change of plans." The young man speaks, hardly discouraged by the Lieutenant's sharp tongue.He's a plucky man, a newcomer to the team only a few rungs under Rinae's rank, but he's quickly wormed his way past her mannerisms, taking them well into his short stride (with proper respect, of course)."Affirmative, Bosun." She nods, tossing a clipboard down to him and climbing down from her perch. "Take charge for now. Priority's on battery charge. Do not load the heavy ordnances yet.""Aye, Lieutenant." He nods, clutching it tight to his chest as he salutes her.As Rinae turns to leave, she can hear him calling out tentative orders that grow ever faint down the long halls.Rinae's prosthetics clank awkwardly against the floor as she steps into the cruiser's winding corridors.Their smoothe metal flooring never seemed easy to walk on; her feet were designed rather perfectly for tread plates and rungs, but here they seemed to slip far easier.Her head's held high regardless of the fact, her gait a bit slow but undeterred.Despite being nearly a foot shorter than even the youngest of conscripts, her presence makes itself well known. The scraping of steel on steel, the odd pace, it all warns the crew ahead of her to make way.They always seem to do so, knowing damn well the fear she's stabbed into them when they've not shown due respect.Almost every man aboard that ship had seen her smash a man's head in with nothing but the cheap aluminum trays used in the mess hall. They've seen people get sent to the infirmary countless times with scratches on every bare patch of skin.Her service record was a red flag to them, a long list of every poor soul who tried something, and got sent to the medical ward for weeks at a time.Rinae's awkward walk finally ends at one of the thick-grated lift leading to the bridge.Plocking in an access code to a small buttoned pad, the lift shuts its gate with a clang and stutters its way up.There's a long way to go, but the lift makes short work of the travel, its gate opening back up to reveal the vast command deck.Countless terminals glow a circuit board green, the vast planetside landscape of Korsk II is perfectly framed in the command deck's observation windows.And right in the center of it all, standing before the vast glowing war projections of a Hololithic map, is a burly figure.Stepping up to him, her feet loud enough to wake a tomb world from its rest, his hand raises for her to stop just a few feet short.His burnt orange hair rustles as his head turns to her, his gaze grisled and weary."Captain Phos, you requested me?" Rinae speaks first, her question more spoken as a statement."Yes, Lieutenant," Phos begins, looking back to the Hololithic map. "A new target's been added to your flight path."Stepping to the side, Rinae watches as the map zooms up the flight plan, somewhat jumbled when compared to that of her last briefing."A garrison requires our attention in sector E-634. The location prevents guardsmen from sound approach, and its air defense capabilities are low enough to support targeted bombardment."Affirmative, Captain," she nods stiffly, before speaking again. "Are delays in departure expected?""Negative, Lieutenant. You will proceed in 40 minutes, as planned."Her face scrunches at the bright hololithic map as she focuses on a strategy, before quickly unscrunching.There's no way to do conventional tactics, and her flight team wasn't capable of holding higher ordnance to destroy most of the garrison's thickly armored fortifications."My team will require heavier ordnance, Captain.""You believe two marauders to be lacking?""Affirmative captain. The flight team has enough planned ordnance for the first 3 garrisons. A fourth will require refitting.""The ordnance should be fine." Phos waves dismissively."I am accounting for errors in aiming, Captain. Smart bombs would allow for targeting of the fuel depots, marking for more efficient runs ""I see. You are permitted to use no more than eight." He relents, his thick hand raising into a salute. "That will be all. Dismissed.""Yes, Captain." Rinae salutes back, her feet clacking their way back to the lift and down to her flight team.Pulling the clipboard wordlessly from her inferior's hands, she starts barking loudly at the crew, causing them to jolt to a halt."Prepare loading of heavy munitions!" Her voice rings out in the bay, sharp and clear."Read off the current load order!" She commands a few ensigns, who stutter their words out in response."S-six mk.III HE bombs!" "T-two mk.II Heavy HE Bombs!""Replace one of the heavy explosives with three 500lb smartbombs!" She shouts, correcting the order."We're now targeting a fourth garrison, so make preparations accordingly! Navigator, examine the flight plans! I want the voxcasters checked again, and clean the heavy boltcaster barrels in the anterior turret!""Aye, Lieutenant!" The men quickly shuffle around, pulling out heavy lifts and slotting the heavy tonnage of explosives into their beloved Marauder.Massive blackened brushes get pumped in and out of the turrets, dislodging small puffs of carbon residues.The last of the preparations are completed, the team's hands still for only a moment as a klaxon blares.Rinae's feet climb up into the Marauder, and 5 squadmates follow suit into the belly of the ancient machine.She's sat in this craft for nearly 2 decades at this point, a miraculous service time for a machine of this type.Miraculously, it's survived each and every encounter, garnering it a service record extensive enough to make the ship of Theseus look like a children's puzzle."All clear for liftoff, Lieutenant" The mousey young man chirps out, his head cupped to the voxcaster."Proceed." She orders back, as the heavy jet engines spool up, thrusting the squadron into the atmosphere of Korsk II.Two marauders, two Thunderbolts soar across the churned landscape of Korsk II, quickly approaching the small mountain range they're tasked with assaulting.They're well enough equipped to handle the scrappy remains of the rebels still tucked inside the first three garrisons.Short bombing runs confirm this, as they crumple from nothing more than a few well aimed bombs."Hit confirmed, target destroyed." The mousey voxcaster chirps to the Lieutenant from his small voxcaster station."Affirmative. Maintain formation and head to the fourth target. What is the Current timing delay?" She speaks up, her voice carrying through the ship."Aye, lieutenant. Nine minutes behind expected timing. 0.7 klicks northeast.""Keep up speed. Relay information to the others.""Aye- Eh?" The mousey man turns to the voxcaster with a startled look. "L-lieutenant, there's an aircraft's vox signature registering 0.6 klicks north."She turns back from the cockpit, staring past the navigator's curly hair and to the small radar positioned on its screen.Sure enough, a small blip's there, and it soon shows up on the radar on her flight controls.Looking up, there's a smudge on the horizon, her eyes just barely able to register the airship itself.It's a lightning strike fighter."There is no planned flight for this area aside from us. Is it registered with the Cruiser?""No, Lieutenant." He shakes his head, "Signature's for an F-253. No matches in the Cruiser.""Confirmed. Patch me through, I will confirm their status. Keep watch on their position.""Aye, patching through now."He clicks a few buttons on the console, and a static fuzz bursts through her transceiver."Pilot, you are within the operation grounds of Marauder team E-988. State your status and cruiser of origin, or you will be classed as hostile." She speaks clearly, hearing an awkward yelp come through the speaker."E-Eh? O-Um... Status?""Affirmative, Pilot. Status and Cruiser of origin.""Well, -kzzt-..." The stuttery voice speaks out through the static. "I'm missing an... Aileron? I think that's what it's called. The windshield's cracked too..."Rinae sighs and cuts her off, "I do not need an itemized report. State the damage severity, Pilot.""O-oh! Sorry, um, heavy?""And now cruiser of origin.""Um...-kzzt- N-none? I'm not... um, I'm with ga-kzzt- 14-C...""What? Repeat.""Gar-kzzt-son 14-C?" The stuttery lady's voice calls through the static-filled speaker.Rinae turns to the navigator with a confused look, before turning back to the transceiver."Confirmed, Pilot. This will be reported for investigation later.""-kzzt- U-um... -kzzt-" The crackling grows worse, the static making it hard to understand their voice."Your communication is insufficient, Pilot. Repeat.""Th-kzzt- near has an-kzzt- air...-kzzt- have to turn ba-kzzt-""Pilot? Pilot?!" Rinae's voice raises as she speaks into the small speaker, only to hear the click of the transmission end."Navigator, identify the pilot's status now!" She shouts out, turning to the mousey man."Out of range, Lieutenant. Should still be flyi-" his voice gets drowned out as a loud boom cracks out underneath the Marauder."W-We're in range of the garrison's anti-air!" He shouts, startled at the resounding booms."Navigator, confirm status of other crafts, now!" She responds in kind, steering the craft upwards.His head whips around to see the onboard medic pull a gunner from the anterior turret, blood pouring from the man's eye."Anterior gunner's hit!""Confirmed! Have escort fighters split! Bombardier, are we on target?!" She shouts above the roar of flakkfire"Aye-" A deep voice calls from the weapons bay, before Rinae's shout cuts him off."Deploy the smart bombs now!"With a loud clunk, a lever slams down, and the heavy bay doors open.The two marauders' payload, six 500lb smart bombs, plummet towards the heavy fortifications below, their whistle a trademark of death for the ordnance.And as they turn to their desired spots, on-board cogitators lining them up with power generators and ammunition racks.Great booms rock out from underneath, enough of a confirmation their payload hit its mark.The booming of flakk grows fierce as the rest of the garrison's battery turns their vengeful attention to the slow Marauders."Navigator, relay command! All units raise out of flakk range!" Rinae shouts to the mousey man, to which he quickly relays through his voxcaster.Shrapnel tears through every bit of the airship, rocking it from side to side.flakk bursts popping just ahead of the ship's nose cause shrapnel to shred through the lighter armored topside, spraying the thin and ragged bits of metal down onto Rinae.Feeling her skin shred and sting, she lets out a loud hiss, her arms pulling the controls up in a controlled rise.And finally, the booming fades, their squadron rising above the batteries' range.The rocking of the Marauder grows softer from the more infrequent booming, the sounds of flakk knocking on the underside of their hull soon fading too.Relaxing her grip on the controls, Rinae turns to the navigator behind her. "Relay status to flight team.""A-aye Lieutenant." The man says, his hands still shaking as he turns and speaks through the voxcaster.A few mutters pass, before he turns back, "All personnel accounted for. The other Marauder has 3 casualties, no deaths.""Confirmed. Include that in the mission report.""Medic, status on the gunner?" She calls out, seeing"Ye~s, Lieutenant? Ah, fine, fine. Missing an eye, but nothing I can't patch up for now." the man calls back, his round glasses glimmer as he pops out from the weapons bay."Ah, little Lieutenant, you're in need of assistance too~" He smiles, holding a tube of hemostatic gel up.Rinae looks down, confused at first until she sees the dozen or so holes peppered into her uniform, blood soaking into the torn cloth.Touching the spots lightly, she feels a faint sting in her chest; It seems the flakk hadn't gone through her cockpit without visiting her first."I see... Hand me the gel, Medic." Rinae's voice remains as monotone as ever, hardly even acknowledging the growing stabs in her ribcage."yes, yes..." He tosses it, along with a tight package of bandaging just a few feet short, letting them roll to a stop at her steely feet.Pulling her long coat open, she carefully detaches the rack of ribbons; her fingers work methodically, uncaring of the blood still seeping into her buttoned undershirt.Wiping them clean of blood, Rinae sets the badges to the side, and turns to the frayed holes in her undershirt. Unbuttoning it, she jams the plungered tube of hemostatic gel into each wound, clotting them with a thick glob.Unspooling the long line of gauze, she wraps it around her frontside, tying it up roughly. The pain's searing, but it's not unbearable; Rinae's felt worse, she'll live, at least.Turning back to the controls, she pitches the Marauder up slowly, raising it up higher and higher, until the massive shadow of the Light Cruiser's visible once more."Navigator, prepare flight team for landing.""Yes, Lieutenant..."As the four aircraft reach the outermost hangar, the vox chirps to life, a countless flurry of landing information, medical reports, and the countless other things necessary for docking.The Marauder clanks to a stop, its engines quickly growing silent as landing finishes.Opening the bay doors, the team quickly shuffles back out to be met by a small team of medicae."Alright, we've recieved reports of 5 injured? Come on, there are others that require our attention!" A tall medic shouts, his voice making the team's injured shuffle over.Some get strapped onto stretchers, quickly dragged away into the bowels of the ship, the rest get pulled up by the shoulder to make their way to the medical ward.As the medic counts them, he turns to the last of the injured. "That's four. Now, the fift-" He stops in his tracks, seeing Rinae stand indignantly.It's almost comical how she stands so confidently, her arms crossed and her head held high despite having her chest peppered with shrapnel."A-ah, Second Lieutenant Rinae... If you will." He says, his voice far less orderly."Affirmative." She says, before turning to the mousey navigator. "Deliver the report to Captain Phos in my stead.""Oh, uh, Yes Lieutenant."Being helped onto a small stretcher, Rinae gets pulled along to the medical ward, confirming injury reports with the medic."I counted roughly 13 entry wounds. They've been plugged temporarily with gel. I apologize for the improper procedures." She says, bowing gently to the chirurgeon."Ah, I'm aware of your habits by now, Second Lieutenant. This isn't my first time treating you." He says, still keeping his hands tucked firmly under the stretcher."Is it, now?""Yes, yes... Now, if you would kindly sit still-" The staffed chirurgeon flips up a a thick needle-tipped hose, balancing the stretcher handles with one hand. "Anaesthetic's a rarity. I can't be wasting any, so do make sure it's worthwhile."Feeling it prick into her skin, her vision grows fuzzy, the world swimming around her as she flops down onto the stretcher."You'll be fixed up in no time, Second Lieutenant."----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Location- CIVILIZED WORLD KORSK IIDate- 6 210.996.M41----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Recent occurence of rebellion in 995.M41 has left planet relatively unstable. Small scale rebellions have occured post-space marine intervention.As such, the Astra Militarum that was reenlisted to the planet have begun counteroffensives.Notably, several abhumans were enlisted during this time.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Korsk II. A lightly fortified planet smack in the backwater stretches of the Segmentum Obscurus.It's a civilized world, one that's got its fair share of low-modern technologies.Yet, a few months before now, a rebellion had sparked across its vibrant earth.At first, it was an easy resistance to break; in only a few weeks, the traitors' leader, Variak, had already been crushed under the boots of four separate Space Marine chapters.Yet, after the marines' withdrawal, the rebellion still sparked, several garrisons still wove the flag of a traitor.It's a local war, only minor squabbles, but the Imperium allows none to go against its words.The war's dragged on till now, the poorly armed planetary defense force struggling against the traitors' more heavily armored garrisons.Farron's wall has taken the brunt of the rebellion's fighting.It's a thick, heavily fortified garrison smack in the center of a vast mosaic of what once were fields of grain.Now, though, its soils are churned from countless bombardments. The garrison's bomb-scorched walls match the burnt-black blood soaked into the earth around it.The war effort was hardly aided by the sudden death of the garrison's commanding officer. Their only replacement, a certain Manus Caldor, was never the cleanest of men.His blatant mismanagement in every aspect of military service prolonged the war greatly, but the end's finally in sight.The Navis Imperialis had come.The deployment of the Aeronautica cleared frontlines in days, and now only a handful sit tucked in the small mountain range 50 klicks north of Farron's Wall.And tucked deep in the garrison, soldiers rush back and forth, preparing for the last offensive of the war; Retaking the mountains.It's rushed, disorderly, but that's how it always is in the Imperial Guard.As soldiers bark at each other, hauling gear out from their barracks, one lanky figure stands awkward and stiff.Hunched over, she's pulling out her worn-out uniform, fumbling about in the barracks her and her fellow auxilla are herded into.Her head sits a foot and a half above even the sluggish ogryns that sit in the bunks across her.But she's far too scrawny to be considered a human, no Imperial would accept that. She's a longshank, an abhuman with disproportionately long arms and legs, and an equally meek disposition.Hearing a loud clunk at the door, she bolts up, only to see the scowl of a sergeant she can't ever remember the name of.His scowl tells her what's certain to come."God damn it! Get your sorry ass to the landing pad!" He shouts, quickly turning back to the hordes of soldiers and stomping away just as fast as he had come."Yes Sir!" She yelps back, scrambling to pull her dull blue flight suit up.Zipping the tattered suit up, she ducks her head down through the doorway, wading through the crowd of people only two-thirds her height.Her greasy black hair sticks to her scalp, still wet from a short and achingly cold shower.Her skin, pale and freckled with an unhealthy grey undertone, makes her look ghastly ill under the amber lights of the garrison's halls.Pushing her way to the courtyard, the glare of the midday sun makes her scrunch up. It's harsh, but at least it warms up her shivering skin."Longshank!" She hears a voice roar above the rest. Turning quickly, she sees a man screaming, veins popping out from his neck.She's heard his shouts thousands of times before, but it still makes her hands tremble.The Sergeant; that's the only name she's known him by; he'd never give an abhuman his name. He's a hateful man.Rushing up, she salutes, before feeling his hands shove her towards a beaten up aircraft.A mK.III Lightning Strike Fighter, an outdated mars-pattern tossed centuries ago that had ended up here.The longshank didn't know how it got here, or why the Imperial Guard was making her fly it, rather than the Navis.But it's not like she can ask, she'd just get beaten back into place if she did."Fly the damn thing already! You're meant to get imaging on the northern garrison today!" The sergeant barks out.She scrunches at the words; she hates it, but orders are orders. She's a work mule conscripted against her will and locked by the iron chains of imperial hierarchy.Even when she knew she shouldn't fly it, that it was a breach of the separation of Imperial armed branches, she had to, just like she's done before.Stuffing herself in the narrow cockpit, she folds up awkwardly. Her legs crook at an odd angle, her arms tucked to her sides to reach the controls.It's a painful fit, but she's used to it by now; after a few weeks of being crammed in this tin can, the bruises turn into a daily routine."The hell are you waiting for?! Get going, abhuman!" She hears the sergeant shout out; he's impatient today, more so than usual.There's none of the usual verbal assaults of the imperial creed, of how abhumans like her should be ashamed of their bestial nature.Seeing an air marshal wave his amber-glowing wands, she flicks the engine switches on, letting the twin turbofans spool to life.The VTOL's heavy engines kick up dusty clouds, pushing the ship off the ground and hurling it towards the sky above.As soon as she reaches an acceptable altitude (or at least, what she thinks it is), she clatters across the control board.Her untrained hands fumble until she finds the right buttons to press, and the Lightning fighter turns to its northern path.Smushing to the side of the cabin, she looks down under her seat, checking that there's even the equipment to perform imaging.Sure enough, the thick gas-powered photography equipment's there in its jury-rigged glory. A canister reel sits just under her seat, designed for "easy removal" (although, not for someone nearly 9 feet tall).Checking that it's powered, she pushes the throttle up, taking over-head shots of the land far below.The equipment's shutters clack loudly with each one; it's outdated, just like the plane, a match made in scrapyard heaven to barely finish its job."What's even the point of this?" She thinks, shuffling in the cramped cockpit.It's a necessary job, seeing how the terrain's been altered from countless bombardments, but there's servitors and ratlings far better at this than her.Somehow, it's always her that gets the short end of the stick.47 Klicks pass by slow and uneventful, but the home stretch is the part she's worried about.There's only 3 klicks to go before she can take reconnaissance of the rebelling garrison, the stark edge of the mountain range loom across the horizonAs small tufts of smoke come into view, signs of the garrison's deep machinery, her palms grow clammy and cold.Raising the plane's altitude, she turns the throttle as low as she can to reduce her signature by any means.Clicking on the controls, she begins taking image after image of the garrison.Sweat drips from her chin, her heart pounding in her chest as she takes each photo hoping it won't be her last.No matter how many times she's tasked to do this, it always feels like she's on the cusp of being shot out of the sky.Taking a few passes, she feels the canister click- a sign that only a dozen shots remain.Sighing, she turns the fighter southwards, increasing the throttle in an attempt to pass it by even the slightest bit faster.A flash of light bursts from the base, and she feels her heart drop.She's not lucky enough to come out unscathed, of course she isn't.Hearing the boom come next, the subsonic flakk round rocks her craft like a boat in stormy seas, its macabre confetti peppering the underside of her craft's wings.Slamming on the controls in a panic, she swerves the poor fighter across the sky, trying to finish the photo-canister. But the loud click under her seat makes her scowl.It's the sound of the photo-canister unslotting; the design's an unreliable mix of welds and poorly aligned slots, resulting in a canister that releases from theThe sounds of flakk tearing through the craft's underside makes her heart pound harder and harder, matching the booms of anti-air under her."D-damn thing." She squeaks out. The rattle of flakk against her fighter's hull, the rumbling of her heart's manic fear; it all muddles her thoughts, as she struggles to focus on what's important.Knocking a shaky fist against the photo-canister, she hears it crunch back into place.The shutters still aren't working, shrapnel's likely shredded its wires beyond repair, but it'll do for now.The longshank's hands scurry to the controls again, clicking through the rest of the shots until the canister hisses an empty sigh.As soon as she hears it, she slams the throttle to full, ignoring the groans of turbofans and the sputtering of fuel lines.The taxed engines push out as much thrust as they can, flinging her out of the flakk-filled skies.Her worries slowly fade along with the loud crackles of flakk bursts, until she's left in the silent clammer of a half-broken fighter.Letting out a relieved sigh, she relaxes her shoulders, sweat pouring from her shaking frame.She just has to make it back now.Breaking her silent reprieve, the voxcaster hisses to life, making her flinch from its sudden squawk."-KZZT-, you are within the operation grounds of Mara-KZZT-eam E-988. State -KZZT- status and cruiser of origin, or -KZZT- hostile." The stern voice calls out."E-eh? Status?" She stutters out, still reeling from the sudden shock."Affirmative, -KZZT-" The voice cuts out now and again.She gulps, feeling an uncomfortable worry form in her stomach. What do you mean "status"? She's never learned any call signs!"Um, like, da-damages? um..." She stutters out, before looking at her vessel's damage."I'm missing an... ay- Aileron? I think that's w-what it's called... The windshield's cracked t-too, and-" Her mumbles get cut off by an annoyed hiss on the other side of the voxcaster."-KZZT- not need an itemized -KZZT- State the damage severity, -KZZT-""O-oh! S-sorry, um, heavy?" Her cheeks flush in embarrassment, as she realizes what they're asking."-KZZT- Cruiser of origin?" The voice asks next."Um... N-none? I'm not, um... I'm with Garrison 14-C.""-KZZT- Repeat." The voice demands, the static slowly growing worse."G-garrison 14-C? Farron's Wall..." She tries to speak more clearly, hoping they hear her this time."Confir-KZZT- report for investigati-KZZT-""O-oh um, You're um, a part of the offensive, right?" She asks, hearing the static worsen even more."-Kzzt-catio-kzzt-""Um... They have um... anti-air. I-I'm heading back to 14-c, b-but um, take care..." She cautions the vessel, but only gets static in response.The signal cuts abruptly, and she gets left in silence.But after only a few moments of peace, another noise brings up her attention.A rattle, different from the sounds of torn-off ailerons and loose flakk jingling in any space they've wedged into.It's a shaving noise, the sound of an engine's fan scraping against its casing.With a harrowing boom, the entire craft slams forwards, the longshank's head banging into the cockpit's window.feeling blood trickle down her forehead, she quickly turns to see what had happened.On the small display, in bright red, are the words "-RIGHT ENGINE FAILURE-"Her heart sinks as she realizes what's soon to happen. She's still 7 klicks away, and no fighter can fly with only one engine.Gripping the controls with clammy hands, she fights against the fighter's rightwards drift, pulling it back in line with the base.The cacophony of grinding steel, shrieking turbines, and blaring alarms only makes her mortality feel all the more apparent.Her eyes lock onto a small terminal, its screen flickering as it displays her end goal's distance.5... 3... 1...The engine crunches again, and a molten hiss erupts in the cockpit as the heavy batteries overheat as the fuel lines catch aflame.The garrison's perimeter comes into sight, her ship screaming as it soars no more than 300 feet from the ground.Her stomach churns, a primal fear rising up with a single, constant thought."B-by the emperor, please... I'm going to die... I-I don't want to die..."She pleads to some unseen hand, in a fear instilled by both desperation to survive and a fear of what will happen if she fails her mission."please... please..." She begs, but the plane won't make it.The blood dripping into her eyes blurs her vision, but she can tell the ground's quickly rising up to greet her in a stony hug.In a desperate maneuver, she reaches under her seat and rips out the storage canister for the imaging device.The cockpit's anterior panels buckle as the batteries on the other side continue their angry hiss; pinholes form as caustic guts push their way through, drops of sizzling hot hydroxide pastes spitting onto her back and face.Biting her tongue to stop her from losing focus, she pulls on a heavy lever, releasing the cockpit's locking pins.Cradling the photo-canister tight, she pushes out from the cockpit, wincing as the wind cuts at her face.her greasy hair whips, as she stutters out a lightning-fast prayer to the god-emperor, begging for any blessing of survival.And with one misplaced step, she stumbles out from the front end of the ship.Her failed leap slams her chest-first into one of the tailfins, cracking ribs as she tumbles to the muddy earth below.With a thunderous crash, the aircraft smashes into the ground, somersaulting twice over, flinging smoldering pieces across the churned earth.The longshank's fall isn't much better; landing feet first, her shins crunch loudly as she lands a few hundred feet from the Garrison's perimeter."A-almost there... please..." She pleads to her body, forcing it to respond to the adrenaline coursing in every last vein.Her eyes sting, full of tears as she drags herself closer to the garrison despite the mind-shattering pain."I'm almost there... please." She pleads to her body, forcing it to drag her closer to the garrison despite the mind-shattering pain in her legs.
"It hurts, it hurts, it hurts..." Her thoughts chant out, her heart clattering in her aching chest. Adrenaline's the only thing keeping her up at this point.Every last bone feels like it's one knock from crumbling into dust, there's blood soaking into her flight suit from countless lacerations.Tears run down her face as she staggers, collapsing halfway to the garrison's walls, the photo canister still clutched tight to her chest.Her voice, hoarse, begging that one of the guardsmen will at least try to help her."S-someone... I'm here..." She cries out faintly, as she feels her eyes grow heavy, her body quickly tumbling into unconsciousness.And as her eyelids shut, she sees through the blood-smears in her vision a slick greatcoat, stark black against the light gray walls; bold red tassels and golden epaulettes glittering like beacons in the sun.She's made it back.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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//REPORT CODE Y.5.81;
//DATE OF REPORT- 6 211.996.M41
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//UNDER PROVISIONS OF CHIEF MEDICAL STAFF OF GARRISON NOX INVICTA OF KORSK II
//EMERGENCY TREATMENTS ARE HEREBY NOTED FOR THE ABHUMAN CONSCRIPT YURIA-LS4KS2
//WITH STATEMENTS OF ADDRESS REGARDING STAFFING OFFICER MANUS CALDOR'S IMPIETY TO THE GOLDEN THRONE
//PERTAINING TO THE TREATMENT OF ABHUMAN CONSCRIPT YURIA-LS4KS2
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//IDENTIFIED MINOR INJURIES;
//38 SITES OF DERMIC INCLUSIONS, NON-SCARRING PROCEDURES PERFORMED FOR EXTRACTION;
//15 SITES OF SUBCUTANEOUS INCLUSIONS. PRIMARILY STEEL, 2 CONTAINED COPPER WIRING. EXTRACTED SUCCUESSFULLY;
//3 SITES OF CAUSTIC BURNS OF NICKEL CADMIUM ORIGIN. SKIN GRAFTING NOT PERFORMED;
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//IDENTIFIED MAJOR INJURIES;
//COMMINUTED FRACTURE OF BOTH TIBIA AND FIBULA;
//13 MINOR FRACTURES TO FALSE RIBS, MEDICAL ADHESIVES USED TO PREVENT MOVEMENT.
//2 MAJOR FRACTURES TO TRUE RIBS. MEDICAL GRADE HARDWARE REQUIRED.
//USE OF GRADE-2 MEDICAL HARDWARE APPROVED;
//CONFIRMED ADMINISTRATION OF 7.5CC EPINEPHERINE TO PATIENT;
//ADDITIONAL PROCEDURE- ADMINISTRATION OF BOLTED-TYPE THOMAS SPLINTS APPLIED TO BOTH LEGS;
//PVP-I APPLIED TO ASSUAGE SEPTIC POSSIBILITIES;
//RUPTURED DORSALIS PEDIS ARTERY IN LEFT LEG. HEMOSTATIC GEL APPLIED. STITCHING PROVED MODERATE EFFICACY;
//BLEEDING HALTED AFTER 34 MINUTES. BLOOD LOSS- MODERATE;
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//ADDENDUM;
//EXAMINATION BY NAVIS COMMISSAR'S REQUEST HAS SHOWN THAT COMMANDING OFFICER MANUS CALDOR;
//HAS VIOLATED THE DIVISION OF LABOR UNDER THE ASTRA MILITARUM AND NAVY IMPERIALIS;
//FOR THE REPEATED VIOLATION AND EMPLOYMENT OF ASTRA MILITARUM CONSCRIPT YURIA-LS4KS2 IN SERVICE OF A MARK V PRIMARIS-LIGHTNING STRIKE FIGHTER;
//ADDITIONAL INFORMATION DETAILED IN REPORT Y.5.91;
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//REPORT CODE Y.5.91;
//UNDER AUTHORITY OF COMMISSAR LLEWYNN TETHAS;
//EXAMINATION BY COMMISSAR'S REQUEST HAS SHOWN THAT COMMANDING OFFICER MANUS CALDOR;
//HAS VIOLATED THE CODEX IMPERIALUS, AND THE DIVISION OF WARFARE UNDER THE ASTRA MILITARUM AND NAVY IMPERIALIS;
//FOR THE REPEATED VIOLATION UNTO ASTRA MILITARUM PERSONNEL, AND NOTABLE OFFENSE PERTAINING TO CONSCRIPT YURIA-LS4KS2 IN SERVICE OF 1 (ONE) MARK V PRIMARIS-LIGHTNING STRIKE FIGHTER;
//AGGRESSIONS PERTAIN TO SECTION IV GRADES 3 AND 4, SECTION VIII GRADES 1 AND 3, SECTION XII GRADE 1, AND SECTION XV GRADE 1;
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//NOTED VIOLATIONS OF CONDUCT Y.5.91-N1;
//VIOLATIONS COMMITTED BY COMMANDING OFFICER MANUS CALDOR HAVE BEEN ELUCIDATED FURTHER;
//1. UNDER SECTION IV, PROPONENT OF COMMON ASSAULT WITHOUT JUST CAUSE ON 11 MEMBERS OF THE IMPERIAL GUARD AND 2 MINOR ATTENDANTS OF THE OFFICIO MEDICAE. PUNISHMENT- 4 YEARS IMPRISONMENT;
//2. UNDER SECTION IV, MENACING, WITH CRIMINAL INTENT, ON 11 IDENTIFIED GUARDSMEN AND 2 MINOR ATTENDANTS OF THE OFFICIO MEDICAE. PUNISHMENT- 9 MONTHS IMPRISONMENT;
//2. UNDER SECTION VIII, GRADE 1, THE PURCHASE AND HANDLING OF UNOFFICIATED 2 BASE AND 1 MARK V PRIMARIS-LIGHTNING STRIKE FIGHTER. PUNISHMENT- 10 YEARS IMPRISONMENT;
//3. UNDER SECTION VIII, GRADE 3, THE POSSESSION OF UNOFFICIATED 2 BASE AND 1 MARK V PRIMARIS-LIGHTNING STRIKE FIGHTER. PUNISHMENT- 5 YEARS IMPRISONMENT;
//4. UNDER SECTION XII, GRADE 1, THE VANDILIZATION, MODIFICATION, AND DESTRUCTION OF 1 MARK V PRIMARIS-LIGHTNING STRIKE FIGHTER CRAFT. PUNISHMENT- 8 YEARS IMPRISONMENT;
//5. UNDER SECTION XV, GRADE 1, THE PERVERSION AND FALSITIES OF STATEMENT OF MANUS CALDOR ON THE RECON ACTIVITIES OF YURIA-LS4KS2. PUNISHMENT- 10 YEARS IMPRISONMENT;
//TOTALITY OF PUNISHMENT- 37 YEARS 9 MONTHS OF IMPRISONMENT;
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//ADDENDUM Y.5.91-A2;
//FOR THE CRIMES COMMITTED AND RECORDED IN RECORDS Y.5.91-N1;
//COMMISSAR LLEWYNN TETHAS DEEMS PUNISHMENT INNADEQUATE;
//NEW PUNISHMENT INSTATED UPON OFFENDER MANUS CALDOR- SENTENCED TO DEATH;
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//ADDENDUM Y.5.91-A3;
//RECORDS OF EXECUTION PROCEDURES;
//INMATE AND CHIEF OFFENDER MANUS CALDOR WAS EXECUTED UPON WITNESS OF 98TH COMPANY, UNDER SANCTITY OF COMMISSAR LLEWYNN TETHAS;
//DATE OF EXECUTION- 6 213.996.M41;
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//ADDENDUM Y.5.91-A4;
//RECORDS OF REQUESTING OF ADDITIONAL PERSONNEL;
//COMMISSAR EXPRESSES NEED FOR NEW PERRSONNEL OF THE FOLLOWING RANKS AND DUTIES- 2 LIEUTENANTS, 1 TACTICIAN;
//REQUEST APPROVED BY STAFF GENERAL;
//DOCUMENTED INDIVIDUALS SERVICE RECORDS EXPORTED IN REPORT CODE Y.5.93;
//END OF LOG;
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Korsk II, Planetside Entry----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------A roar surrounds the shuttle as its twin engines burst through the atmosphere.Its destination is planetside, somewhere that its passengers sit unfamiliar.And while most would relish in the firm earth, one officer sits within the shuttle, disgruntled; Rinae.It's not what Rinae would like, but orders aren't to be disobeyed. She'll follow her captain's orders, just as she's always done.The burst of air against the engine's trails makes the hull clatter; along with a lurch, it's a sign that the shuttle's close to its destination.Farron's Wall, Garrison 14-C in the countryside of Korsk II, a messily built array of blackened steel and antennae.The hydraulics of the shuttle's doors hiss, as the steel slab clangs onto the heat-cracked landing pad.The first sight of planetside, is a line of guardsmen in greyish-green uniforms, their salute as stiff as their faces.Their eyes sit dead ahead, not daring to meet the first of the personnel to leave the ship. Why would they dare to disrespect the commissar that's whipped them into line.A leather-capped woman steps out from the shuttle first, the insignia of the empire's twin-headed eagle shining upon the brim, which only makes the air grow tenser.Nothing easy comes with a commissar's grace, especially when it means there's two to tango within the batallion now."Greetings, Commissar Tethys." She says, her eyes fierce as she sees the similarly dressed man before her."I could say the same, Commissar Auros. Your procession has come in a timely fashion." He says snidely."I believe word should be sent to Commanding Officer Illyam, yes?""Yes, yes. It has already been done." He mutters, unamused at Auros' uncaring response.The two commissars end their conversation quickly, their speech icy cold yet just cordial enough to suffice.And as they finish, Commissar Auros' hand waves, and the rest of the navis' officers step from the shuttle's interior.Her pupils thin like coinslots in her stony eyes, unused to the glare. The cold day's sun is bright, far more than the dull lamps of her beloved cruiser.The rustle of wind, the strange smell of grass, it itches at her skin.Most aggravating of all is the way her feet sit upon the bumpy pavement. The heavy lumps of steel that sit below her thighs scrape unevenly.Her feet are hardly made for the planetside pavements, nor are they for soft dirts and grasses. She's destined for steel panels, and them alone."Now's no time for waiting," The bald commissar sighs, waving dismissively."Lets have your personnel sort themselves out now, yes?""Affirmative." She turns her eyes glaring down at the handful of officers by her side."Examine the clemencyed first. You all should know which is your post."With that, Commissar Auros quickly struts past, her figure slipping through one of the garrison's solid bulkheads.And as the bald-headed Commissar quickly fills the space where she stood, his shadow looms over the navis officers."Now, you all, I will see to it that you are housed by nightfall. The primary clemencied are held within the D9 Barracks. Which of you is assigned to B13?"Rinae's ears pop up, as she salutes to his words. "2nd Lieutenant Rinae, Sir."His eyes scrape against her for a brief moment, before he turns. "Very well. You'll be led by Junior Officer Gahn. Dismissed."The line of guardsmen breaks quickly, and before she's slung her steel case onto her back, a man with flat-topped hair salutes her."Greetings, Lieutenant. I will show you the subject."She nods curtly, as his footsteps scurry a bit too fast for her liking.As they take turn after turn, the sharp scent of analgesics slowly overcomes the windy plain-scent that seems to wrap across the courtyard.With one last turn, and a crowd of slump-shouldered guardsmen are their first sight. Bandages and stitches coat each one, seemingly injured from the recent cleanups."Am I to find them here?" She says, her ears twitching as her eyes flick from one face to the next."The subject is deeper inside, Lieutenant." He replies, pushing his way through the crowd and into the medical ward proper.Rinae follows behind, The scrape of her feet against the paving, along with the shine of her emblem, forces the crowd to give her wide berth.His hand waves high, as he flags down one of the tired-eyed attendants."The Lieu-" He quicky tries to take charge as they approach."I am here for the clemencied subject." Her voice cuts him short, as she quickly moves in front of the attendant.Turning back to the junior officer, Rinae merely nods, "Dismissed," which he quickly rushes out of view."Officer... If I may," The medic nods towards one of the many hallways. "The patient is in B13... right this way."She continues her taciturn march, led down the ward's halls by the bleak medic this time rather than a junior officer.A single door with a scratched label is where their feet stop.The medic jumbles the keychain on his belt, unlatching it and clicking one of them into the lock."I ask that you... do not aggravate the patient. They have only recently calmed down."Rinae only glares back; she would do only as she plans, as she always has done."You will not be needed further, medic.""As you... wish." He bows, before handing her the key. "I will return to my duties, then."Her feet clack against the tile floors, as she shuts the door behind her.The dim room before her's clearly been set up hurriedly; the air is stuffy, deathly still.And as Rinae's eyes adjust to the somberly lit room does she see her goal; the clemencyed.A puddle of greasy black hair seeps across the messy bedframe, the skin underneath it is as ghastly pale as the sheets.Freckles pepper her cheeks, sitting just under shadowed eyelids, and a heavy number of bandages wrap around her gaunt frame.Most surpring though is her size, though; her frame is far too stretched for the medical bed she's curled atop, her lanky and disproportionate limbs held awkwardly at her sides.It's a size that fits only one "race" of man; Longshanks.As the metallic taps of the Lieutenant's prosthetics ring out agains the tile, the patient's head whips, as she instinctively presses into the bedside wall."W-who-""I am 2nd Lieutenant Rinae, here to manage your status as a clemencyed guardsman."Rinae pulls closer, her eyes glancing to the small table that sits by the bed. On it lies a thin file, labelled "LS4KS2 MEDICAL" in the familiar monospaced sans-serif font of an administratum document.Quickly snatching it up, she flicks through it with a scowl; the damned guardsmen seem to have left quite a bit out of the released documents.Each page is chocked full of nonsense medical terminology, but they've made false records before."I will confirm the information here, first." Rinae grumbles, flicking back to the first page. Pulling closer, the woman before her shrinks away."E-eh? Um, I..." Her voice finally squeaks out, trying to assemble anything the panicked woman can think of."What is your name?" Rinae cuts through the patient's stutters, as she taps on the file's pages.A few moments pass until her soft and slow voice stutters out a response."Um... Y-Yuria, M-ma'am." She says."Lieutenant." Rinae quickly taps on the badge that glimmers, even in the room's dim light."H-huh?""My title is Lieutenant, not 'Ma'am.""O-oh. S-sorry, Ma- Lieutenant." She bows her head quickly."Next, rank.""I-I think it's Conscript...""You 'think'?" Rinae taps the file impatiently."W-well, the Auxilla d-doesn't really have any, w-we're just put beneath guardsmen.""Designation?" The Lieutenant asks, turning her head to look at the visible brand on Yuria's neck."LS4KS2, L-Lieutenant.""Confirmed. Now, confirm your duties as a servant of the God-Emperor.""W-what do you-""State your role within the Garrison.""Oh... W-Well, I mostly just help c-cargo transfers, a-and maintenance that doesn't need b-blessing by the techpriests.""Only servitor tasks?""M-mostly, yes."Rinae sighs, before snapping the file shut."I will not tolerate lies, Longshank. The reports show that you were the pilot of an unofficiated craft."Yuria winces slightly, before bowing again."O-oh, I d-did pilot it, yes. I-I'm sorry, Lieutenant...""I will overlook it for now due to your clemency, but I still require your testimony for report validation." Rinae says, growing impatient towards the soft-hearted lady."Piloting skills are not common. While I may not be a commissar, I still am your acting overseer to see your return to duty.""Um, well... I-I'm familiar with sh-shuttle controls, a-and the um, C-captain told me I'd b-be executed if I didn't do it."Rinae's tail flicks, as she tosses the file back onto the small bedside table."Very well, that will be all. I will inspect your fitness tomorrow." She says, turning away and marching out.Locking the door once more, she passes through the long halls of the medical ward, slipping in and out of the crowded entrance.Pushing back to the courtyard, her ears twitch back and forth, still unused to the tickle of the surface's wind.But her duty lies elsewhere; locking onto the long black greatcoat of her direct superior, Commissar Auros, she quickens her pace."Ah, Lieutenant." The Navis commissar nods, waiting for the scrape of the lady's metal legs to come to a stop."Greetings, Commissar." The two exchange a brief salute, before Auros speaks up."I assume you've examined the clemencyed?""Yes, Commissar," Rinae nods. "I've partially clarified the report and validated their testimony; I believe clemency will hold for now.""On what grounds?""They do not carry themselves defiantly."Commissar Auros scoffs at the statement"I expect more objective reports, but that will do for now. File an official assessment by the next quartum, Lieutenant.""Yes, Commissar." Rinae nods, before seeing her superior turn away."That will be all. dismissed."----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Garrison 14-C, "Farron's wall", Medical bay
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Morning comes, and an anxious Yuria rises from her bed as a guard opens her door.
"Oi, yer up. Lieutenant Rinae's callin for ya."
The man says, his tone far from friendly."Y-yes sir..." Yuria quietly speaks. She hunches over, zipping up her tattered dusk-green flightsuit as she walks out into the courtyard.
The figure of Rinae sticks out like a sore thumb as she stands brazenly amidst a crowd of bustling workers and officers."Yuria, as I have mentioned yesterday, I will be discussing your duties within the Militarum Auxilla."
"To confirm whether your position is sufficient, or if it is a result of the prior commanding officer's negligence, I will assess your performance."
"My orders are superior to all preceeding offices' of a lower rank, as commanded by Commissar Auros."
Rinae's voice chatters out, as she stares up at the hunched woman."Ah... o-ok... then um... I just go to work?"
"Affirmative, Yuria."Yuria shyly turns and walks away, with Rinae's unblinking gaze burning into the back of her head.
Stilted, she trods through the crowd of bustling people, wobbling slightly as uncaring soldiers bump against her sides.
The noise and rush of the crowd dies away as the two reach Yuria's destination, an auxilary generator station.
She pulls a small punchcard from her pocket and clocks in, as she slinks over to a messy closet and slowly pulls out a small cart of supplies.
the wheels squeak as she drags it along the long halls of the auxillary reactor, as she occasionally stops to replace a burnt fuse or clean up spilt oil.
These were hardly the duties of a guardsman, these were things that could be done by mere servitors.As Yuria repeats the same few tasks for more than an hour straight, Rinae's eyebrows furrow.
"Yuria, is this the entirety of your duties? I will not allow you to withhold any actions from my assessment."
Yuria jumps, startled by the sudden voice.
"E-eep! O-Oh um, sorry Lieutenant... This is pretty much it... I-I'm not permitted for arms training right now... um..."
I'm not given any real clearance for holding firearms, since sir Caldor um... was removed."
"A guardsmen should at least have permissions for a laspistol, according to doctrine. I will make note of this." Rinae remarks.
Yuria stops for a moment, anxiously looking left and right as she cleans up a spill.
"e-eh? oh there's um, no real need... it's always b-been like this, and I d-don't want to cause any i-issues..."
Yuria quickly tries to sweep the issue under the rug."No, it is due process, not doing so would defy the go-" Rinae's voice gets drowned out, as a voice roars out across the hall at them."WHAT IN THE HELL? YOU AREN'T IN HERE TO SIT AND TALK. MOVE IT, YOU FREAK!" A gruff looking man storms over, furiously waving his hands at Yuria.
She instantly shrinks, dropping the small bucket of absorbent gravel onto the floor as she shields her face.
"I-I'M SORRY SIR, I'M SORRY!" Her voice shaking, as if she were in mortal danger.
"I SAID, GET BACK TO WORK" The man bellows, as he raises his fist ready to strike as Yuria curls up.Rinae stands, indignant. Someone dares interrupt her? Someone who has yet to serve as long as her, what fool would dare?
"State your name and rank, Guardsman" Rinae's voice raises, as she stands in his shadow.
The man slams his fist onto Yuria's crown, as he continues screaming.
She's frozen in fear, completely balled up as she takes each hit.
"Guardsman. Name. and. rank." Her speech is choppy, as a disgusted anger surges within her.
"Huh?" the man glances behind him, scoffing,
"Fuck off, stupid freak. Damn abhumans, no place in the mili-" as he turns back to hit Yuria more, Rinae's hands move like lightning.
Reaching up, her thumb pulls back.CLICK.The sound of a hammer pulling into a cocked position, as she holds the tip of her revolver inches from his neck.
"I said, name and rank. I will not ask again."
It feels disgusting, having such a low ranking officer turn their back and ignore them so. Having some wasted fuck bark orders at HER guardsman.
It's been so long since she's last been disrespected like this, since she's seen someone under her being disrespected like this. It's infuriating."Huh? W-what?" the man appears startled as he whirls back around, before anger boils onto his face.
"I SAID FUCK OFF, YOU STUPID BI-"Rinae pulls her hand down, pulling the trigger with cold blood.
The hammer drops, smoke filters out from the barrel, as the bullet punches a messy hole in his boot.
Blood spills out, soaking into the gravel yuria had placed on an oil spill earlier."I am second lieutenant Rinae, under direct command of commissar Gyslaine Auros. By the grace of the golden throne, one more word of disrespect out of your worthless mouth will warrant immediate execution."
"Now, answer."The man kneels, gripping his foot as he grits his teeth. His voice hisses out, as he writhes in pain.
"I-I'm Kaine Rotham, an enlisted guar-" his voice never gets to leave, as Rinae pulls his collar down.
Nothing more needed to be spoken by the man. An enlisted guardsman? Not even a non-commissioned officer, and he had the gall to speak like that?
The back of his head bobs, right into her reach, as she flips her revolver around and whips it down on his head.
The well placed strike knocks the man out cold, leaving blood on the concrete as she's definitely cracked something.An enginseer approaches, with a great deal of disgust as he sees the blood drops on the floor.
"You are... Lieutenant Rinae. I ask that you do not perform such acts in our sanctified reactor. The biologics will disgrace the omnissiah's sacred artifacts"
She sighs, as she looks up at the mechanicus.
"I apologize, Enginseer. This individual left me no choice. I shall remove him and the other promptly" She nods, her rage subsiding just as quickly as it came.She grabs the unconcious man's collar, dragging it out and tossing it to a passing guardsman. Her orders bark out briefly before she turns back, walking up to Yuria.
She's still balled up, stifled sobs heard from behind the tangled mess she is.Even though her simple ordered mind thought to, Rinae couldn't just drag her out. For some reason it felt wrong.
She slowly goes down to get close. kneeling, her worn prosthetics scraping the hard floor as she clacks down.
"Yuria, not here. Come."
She slowly helps the sobbing woman up. Blood leaks from the scrapes on her face, and the soft healing skin around her burn scars has bruised black."I will take you to the medic." She says softly, her hands holding Yuria's sleeve as she marches in front of the woman.
Her pace slowly increases the gap between the two, and soon enough she realizes the longshank's sleeve has slipped from her fingers.
She quickly swivels back, to catch the gangly woman quietly skulking down a sidealley of the reactor."Where are you-" She cuts herself off. Yuria's already walked too far ahead to hear her.
Rinae's footsteps quicken, as she tries to walk faster to catch up. The motors hiss as icy pangs runs up the ports in her thighs.
Her ears flatten as she hits the metal casing, hoping nobody's looking.
"Not now... stupid things..." With a whirr, they slowly click back into working order. The sharp stabs die away, as she slowly starts again, her pace more carefully thought.She reaches the quiet area. It's a small dark spot, covered in gravel and warchurned soils. The only source of light, a few dim floodlights, meant to shine on passing vehicles on the backstreet.Their breath comes out as thin, fluffy wisps in the cold air.
Her ears perk forwards, as she hears the faint sobbing from a corner.
In the dim orange of the streetlights, she sees the lanky woman curled up in one of the alcove's dark corners.
"Yuria, you require medical attentio-"
"W-who cares... Even if... If I get it, I'll just get more tomorrow..." She cuts the Lieutenant off, her voice almost mournful.
"I do not care. You will be treated regardless. Lift your head..." Rinae says, her tone authoritative at first before being tempered down into a gentle voice.
"Please." She tacks on with an awkward pause, watching as Yuria's curl slowly loosens.Rinae's small hands gently pull the hair away, as it flakes and cracks from the blood dried to it.
Reaching into her coat, she pulls out a small twinpack, pulling open the left side to reveal a brown stained swab. She smears it across the cuts.
Yuria flinches, as the cuts burn slightly from the antiseptic.
"H-hey... I-I said n.no... please..."Rinae doesn't seem to heed her request, as she pops open the second side of the pack, pulling out a small canister of spraygel. she cracks off the top, and speaks.
"Close. It hurts if it gets in your eyes."
She waits, her eyes trained straight at Yuria's as they lock gazes. With a gentle sigh, Yuria leans down so Rinae can get a better angle, cautiously shutting her eyelids.Without a moment of delay, the spraycan hisses, as the gel soaks into the wounds and scabs over.
Click, the top of the can gets snapped back on as she tucks it back into her coat."That will suffice for now. There may be gravel stuck in it, so get it examined more later."
"Oh... Ok..." She finally relents, her legs uncurling as she leans against the wall.
Her nose is rosy, from the cold and from her crying."Is... this a regular occurence?" Rinae asks, as she clunks down next to her.
"Is it? O...Of course it is..."Yuria slowly looks down at her, with puffy red eyes fresh from crying."Very well. I will not allow it to happen again." Rinae spits out, as she looks up indignantly.
"O-oh... um... I-" Yuria tries to speak up, before being cut off.
"No refusing." Rinae cuts her off with a stern look."Then um... can I... call you Rin?" She asks tentatively.
"since you um... y-you can say no if you want to...""Fine. But only when others are not listening."
"O-Oh... Thanks, Rin."
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Observation notes
Date- 6 218.996.M41
Observer- 2nd Lieutenant RinaeCursory note-
Guardsman shows signs of anxious attatchment, should check files for upbringing.
Amiable disposition, seems more calm around abhumans.
Should consider distancing to prevent further development.
Wounds accurate to reports. Healing has gone well, some spots require more treatment.Guardsman seems Inattentive at times. May need to remind her of current health and prevent possible injury.

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Garrison 14-C, "Farron's wall", Courtyard
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A few weeks have passed since the two had first met. The garrison'd been turned upside down with the deployment of the navis' officers.
Luckily, it seems that things have finally settled down, right as the first snow's come.
It's a light flaky powder, but still snow nonetheless.Today's no different, a slow day that drags on aimlessly.
The sun's already low in the sky as the snow lazily falls, and Yuria's left for once without any work, without any wounds.She slowly wanders about the courtyards, looking for her dear friend Rin.
Over the past few days, they had started meeting as soon as Yuria would leave her newly assigned bunk; The Lieutenant would always somehow be nearby, ready to accompany her.
But today, she's not outside, where she would greet her each morning.Her work's been dwindling; it normally does this time of year, as the reactor is less prone to burning up fuses and coils when its cold out.
But her work's even less than normal, there's no picking up littered items or scrubbing walls.It seems higher management has given her a bit of extra breathing room for what they call "grievance processing" over the last incident.
But surely it's Rin's work that made it so; the woman had a habit of being stubborn about these things, fter all.The lack of work's started to make Yuria anxious from all the spare time. Time that she's filled in by spending it near Rin.
But it's still less than it would be if Rin was still watching over her shift."It's a shame" Yuria thought to herself, that the time they spent together had lessened. She had quickly started to enjoy working under Rin's watch.
The way the Lieutenant would lazily stroll around the hall, circling the lanky woman with a waving tail and unblinking gaze.
It's somewhat comforting, especially because of how most guardsmen and officers alike now avoid the two out of fear of being "reprimanded".
It was as if she can finally relax the slightest bit, knowing that she won't be screamed at.But in this more relaxed time, she's been able to watch the Lieutenant more carefully during her short shifts and breaktime meetups, and something's started to nag at her.
A few odd behaviors; nothing massive, but noticable enough to tip her off.
The way Rin holds a cup cautiously with both hands, how she always seems to walk over heating vents and bump into the reactor's exposed heating coils without reacting.
How she'd sway side to side without noticing her own movement, how she'd brace herself against the wall when she thinks she's alone.There's countless things she's started picking up on; She was always watchful of others after all, a habit that was born from a fear of punishment.
But there was no fear in her watchful eye now, it was a strange curiosity.
As she once again wonders about all these different things, she continues her walk.
"Where's Rin?" A question lingering on her mind as she walks from building to building, hoping to see the Lieutenant."ACCURACY DECREASED BY 45.6%. READJUST SIGHTS." She hears a loud, mechanical voice speak.
It's the shooting range's servoskull, squawking as it hovers around a familiar figure."I am well aware, now quiet." The stern voice of the Lieutenant rings out.
Her revolver, clenched in a whiteknuckled grip, as she fires twicemore.
"ACCURACY MAINTAINED. LOW PERFORMANCE NOTED, READJU-" "I said silence." Her voice cuts off the loud skull, as she slams her revolver back into its holster.
As she turns, Yuria gets a good look at her face. It's seething, her jaw clenched as she storms away.Yuria shies back, hiding from Rin's glare as the woman stomps past. An instinct caused by years of abuse, one done unintentionally.
But as she does so, she fears reaching out to the Lieutenant's shoulder. "She's mad, I should wait" She thinks.
And to get further from her gaze, she timidly slips into the shooting range.
Empty firing lanes, dented plasteel targets hanging from rafters. A lone servoskull clicks as it floats past.
In a red glowing dot matrix, a series of numbers hangs next to one of the booths; 24/60, Rin's shooting accuracy.It's shockingly low; even Yuria could get at least a 30 at the 50 meter mark, but 24?
Her eyes shamefully look away, as if she had seen something she shouldn't have.
It's like she accidentally stumbled across a blatant sign, something that makes her worries churn in her head.
"Is she sick? Why hasn't she said anything? Why hasn't she been called out yet?"
her anxieties grow for a moment, before she shakes the thoughts out of her head.
Surely not, it's Rin after all. The strong, unflinching Rin that scared off guardsmen twice her size with nothing more than her scowl.
Her cheeks flush as she walks out, luckily played off as nothing more than a flush from the cold.She shakes away the odd discomfort in her chest as she walks back out. She should find Rin, not focus on some worrisome train of thought.
Resuming her search, she oncemore paddles through buildings for any trace of the Lieutenant.Not the reactor. Not the guard bunks. She continues shuffling slowly between the few areas she knew.
The mess hall? No. The archives? Still no. An hour or so has passed without any more sightings of the elusive Rin.The Exchange? It's the last place she hadn't checked, one she hoped she hadn't.
She'd avoided it in her initial sweep; too many people, too many unkind eyes and arrogant voices, but there's always the chance Rin could be there.
She makes her way inside, focusing to find any trace of Rin over the noise of the people bustling inside.Holding her breath slightly, she enters the exchange, greeted by lines of wireframe shelves and groups of bustling guardsmen.
As she enters, many of them glare, eyes burning with annoyance or disgust. It's like they're screaming she should walk right back the way she came.
She flinches, shirking from their sight as she ducks down, hiding her head under the tall shelves.
"This is the last place, she has to be here" Yuria copes, as she focuses on any trace of her friend.
Above the noise, she finally singles out the familiar clinking of metal on metal.
As if guided by a string, she quickly stalks over to the Exchange's slip handlers, and finally spots the face she knows too well; it's Rin!
The short woman's handing ration tickets to a servitor, letting the slow husk dump packs of rations and recaf into her hands.As Yuria shuffles closer, the slow and familiar drag of her timid steps makes Rin's ears twitch.
Her pointed ears pivot, her head following quickly behind as she spots Yuria.Her tail waves slowly as she jostles the food into one hand, a can of recaf in the other.
"Yuria, here." She tosses over the can of the cans as she slowly walks over.
The can nearly hits the ceiling as she almost misses the impossibly tall target she's aiming at, but Yuria's long arms manage to fumble it into outstretched hands."O-oh um, hi Rin... I-I was looking for you" she nervously smiles.
"Is there something you needed?" Rin responds back. As the two get close, Rin hands more things to Yuria.
"Um... no, not r-really..." She awkwardly accepts the food, as Rin turns and walks away. She takes no more than a dozen steps before looking back, her eyes expectant.At first, Yuria's not quite sure what she wants. The woman's awfully cryptic at times, but it's something she's getting used to.
Finally, it clicks in her head as she shuffles over.
Rin silently turns back to continue her walk, continuing her short stop-and-checks every few dozen steps.
With the clinking of metal and the shuffling of dragged feet, the two walk quietly across the base unbothered by the silence between them.Rin leads her through a pair of hydraulic doors, far from any sector she knew well.
Polished black floors, tall ceilings, banners and paintings lining the walls; It's far different from the scuffed and riveted walls of the barracks or the oily ones in the reactor.Finally, Rin stops abruptly in front of her. The suddenness making Yuria nearly tumble into her.
She slips out from under Yuria's stumbling as she opens the door.
As Yuria quickly stabilizes, she turns to look where Rin had gone. It's a dim, warm room; a few terminals lie on a desk, files piled up on the countless filecabinets and shelves, and a rustled bed's tucked away in the corner.
"Um... is t-this your quarters?" Yuria asks, timid in the new place.
"Yes. Sit." She sits on the tall seat at her desk, dumping the things in her hand on her desk.With a slow click, she carefully detatches the cables in her thighs.
With an electric whine, the motors slowly stiffen straight as she pulls the prosthetics off.
Swivelling back to the pile on her desk, she stacks up a few files and papers on her desk before unwrapping a few K-ration biscuits.She stares at the small brick of food, then at the lanky woman looking around her quarters, then back to her food.
"Here. I bought too much." She sticks one out, waiting for Yuria to take it."O-oh, thank you..." She says, jumping a bit at the broken silence.
She carefully takes the crackled stick from Rin, trying her hardest not to have it leave crumbs across the just-tidied desk.
"You can sit down." She says, pointing towards the bed.
"Right..."She sits on the edge of the low bed, her knees crooked at an awkward angle as she watches the woman work.
Rin's hands move quickly from one thing to the next, scanning and sorting files, drafting countless reports.And as Yuria watches, That worry starts to come back. She can see it, the faint tremors in her hand, how her fingers sometimes twitch and snap.
And as she stares, Rin notices her gaze and looks up at her.
The two stare for a few moments, an awkward yet comfortable one.
Wordlessly, the two break their watch of the other. One side, flicking back to her work, the other to the floor in a slight blush.
she's already told herself she shouldn't worry over Rin's tremors, over her wobbly steps and frustrated display.
And Rin's gaze alone was enough to stun it out of her.When they look into eachother's eyes, she doesn't worry as much.
When they see eachother, all Yuria can see is the short, black haired lady she's grown so close to over the past few days.And the same quiet commpany continues for the night, until a gentle ringer in the halls remind them of the curfew."Um... It was nice, I think... I'll see you some other time?"
"If I have time, now go." Rin chirps back, as Yuria opens the quarters' doors.
The hallway's bright casts Yuria's long, lanky shadow over her as she slowly slink away.
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Date- 234.996It's been a while since I've last written here, I think. Maybe a few months? I forgot to date the last few entries, so I can't really say.
I've been paired up with a Navis officer for a while now. She's a bit odd, way too quiet and seems to always be watching everything around her. It's kind of like she's a spotlight.
It's a bit awkward to be watched while I work, but I've started to like the company.She seems to have been assigned as a temporary overseer, but I only ever see her watch over me.
I do hope I'm living up to her expectations though.
We hardly ever talk, but it's nice that she always seems to keep an eye out for me, even if it's only what she's made to do.
I'll try to write more later on, maybe it'll help me from worrying about things too much
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Korsk II, Planetary Orbit, aboard the Light Cruiser Aeryne.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------In the dark office of Captain Phos, lit only by the faint lights flickering above, two old officers stand.The smell of cigarsmoke lingers in the air, as fine liquor gets poured into glasses."Illyam, I hope all is well in the garrison" Phos begins."Yes, Captain, I expect you're holding the cruiser together fine as always. Now what was important enough to drag me all the way from my garrison?"The two lifelong comrades (and rivals) exchange their greetings, as they quickly get down to business."You saw the reports, aye? It's all laid out there. I want a report on the issue at hand.""Affirmative, captain." Illyam says, rechecking the response to her personnel request."The aircraft, yes? We've got them planned for return in a few quartums. Should line up with the end of the deployed officers.""Speaking of which, The Lieutennt you've tossed over... Looking at her records, I do not believe she is quite what I asked for.""She will perform her duties well. I expect the only issue is that the medical ward will be stuffed full of those who don't follow her orders.""But why her? I am sure there are far better in your vessel for aiding the discipline, especially one that isn't an abhuman. You know damn well how my regiment accepts the auxilla stationed there.""I'm aware, Illyam but I have good reason to do so. The Lieutenant's a hardy woman, and a fine disciplinarians, just short of a commissar. I don't see any issue in having her statio-""That can't be all of it. You even specifically had her watch over that longshank!"Illyam, frustrated at how Phos seems to dance around her questions, barks at the man."Putting two magnets for trouble together in MY garrison?! I will not have you toy with my stationed troops, no matter how sorry a state they be!"Phos's shoulders slightly lower, as he lets out a long sigh."Dammit, Colonel, You're always such a prick...""And it's served me damn well, you old bastard!" Illyam's finger prods into Phos' chestHe swats her hand away, and pinches the bridge of his nose, grumbling."Fine, I'll tell you all of it, but you best keep this under wraps. The inquisitors already have been keeping an eye at her for recycling.The Lieutenant... doesn't have much time left in service. Cumulative health issues and the like. High command's considering she be put down like some kind of animal.And I will not have one of my vessel's finest treated like that, do you understand?""I never knew you to be one to care for your officers so dearly, captain. Perhaps your old age is finally softening you up?The old woman smirks at phos, goading him as she sips from her glass."Putting her here at least delays the order by a quadrum or two. And the council's slowly leaning towards officially retiring her."Phos continues, not even acknowledging her comment."Then why pair her up with the longshank, then? She could be stationed anywhere! Putting two damn magnets for troublemakers only makes my duties harder!""You see, the Lieutenant's dutybound, like the finest always are. But she's a hardass, I know damn well she won't take her retirement easily.She's a feisty one, but she's never lived outside a ship or without orders. I'm afraid the moment we let her go she'll tear herself to death over it.I've seen too many of my men get retired, only to end up in a shallow grave from their own failures."I've read the reports. You're considering releasing the longshank from service, so the two seem to be in the same situation.I doubt the Lieutenant'd function at all if she's let off on her own. I was hoping that putting the two together would at least let her ease up a little.""well... I suppose it could work. I've been getting reports of the two, and it seems to be going like you've said. Although I don't appreciate the injury reports I'm being given as well.""They're only being disciplined like you wanted.""I wanted flogging, not bullet holes. It's a nightmare to the medics." She sighs as she downs the rest of her drink."Thank you Colonel, for putting up with it." Phos says as he pours her a second glass."A thanks, coming from you? You really are softening up, huh?""Oh stuff it." Phos grumbles.The two continue on like this for the night, sharing reports and talking away.As the morning breaks, filtering lights through the blinds in the office, the two nod before quickly separating back to their own commandposts.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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