Aina Harker's Story

"And so we shall." Aina nodded, staring at the map until she memorized the route to the nearest armory. She could only hope there would be weapons available for one of her stature, a bolter designed for an Astartes would likely shatter her arm. But better at least Seth be armed then neither of them.

"The transportation station is a short distance from here. Let us be off." She tapped at the console, setting the communications to record any newly received message. "We will gather arms and supplies, then return here to await word from the Imperium." Aina said as she made her way out of the bridge.

Seth stayed there for a moment, his eyes darkening, but then he decided to remain silent. He had to arrange himself with her as she was the only one who knew how to get help. So he followed her. Without a word he made his way through the webbing corridors, along more closed doors.
Every now and then they encountered dead Astartes, all in the white Armor of the Luna Wolves. As they passed one Seth stopped. "Wait!", he called out to the Inquisitor, stepping closer to the dead body. Sprawled over the floor he looked like he had toppled over, dead. No dried blood snaked its way from underneath his massive body, his bolter secured and a few meters away from him.
It seemed as if whatever had killed the man had gotten him by surprise.
Seth frowned and then picked up the weapon. Though he still wore nothing more than an old undershirt, ragged and almost as threadbare as the banners on the corridors and underpants of the same quality, he felt safer now. The weight of the bolter was a familiar one.
"Let's hope this thing's still working", he said to Aina, beckoning her to follow him.

Aina stopped, looking over to Seth. The corpses of fallen Luna Wolves were unnerving, giving her all the more reason to pick up the pace towards the armory. She peered at Seth's newly acquired weapon, curious of the bolter's archaic design. "That will do, for now. Hopefully the armory has weapons in better condition, not to mention ammunition. And perhaps some appropriate clothing." She peered back the corpses, looking for a sign of what caused their deaths. That would at least slightly prepare them for whatever was next to come.

The corpse seemed to have died from something within, as no hole in the Armor or no blood showed the exact reason of death.
Seth continued to the armory, bolter ready. However, nothing happened on his way there.
The armory was in the same dusty condition as everything on the ship. Bolters, lasguns, chainswords, even combat knives and energy claws were scattered across the room, unused in the last millennia. One part of the armory seemed to be reserved for Imperial Guard, however the most part held weapons and armor for Astartes. Slowly Seth stepped forward.
Nothing moved in the room. There was not even a dead Luna Wolf inside. Slowly Seth lowered his bolter. Curious, he looked around. The bolters were the same ancient design as the one he was carrying, as were the few Power Armor suits of Mark IV build.

"Do you even remember how to operate Power Armor, much less all of these weapons?" Aina asked as she strolled down the racks of assorted weapons. Hardly the quality she was used to as an Inquisitor, but a bolter shell was a bolter shell and she wasn't about to complain.

She continued to wander about the armory, carefully examining the various equipment before she made her choice. The Astartes' equipment was of little use to her, but thankfully there was more then enough weapons for Imperial Guard units. A power sword and a plasma pistol would have been preferable, but she was quite willing to settle for a Guard officer's chainsword and laspistol. She also made sure to check for armor, hoping that there would be a set for commissars or officers that would have somewhat better quality then a grunt's meager flak jacket. "Gather as much weapons and ammunition as you can while still being able to move and fight. And look for canteens as well. We will take these, find some water, and then return to reinforce the bridge until assistance arrives."

Seth looked at Aina and narrowed his eyes. She was right, but he didn’t want to admit it. So he crossed his arms in front of his chest once more and furrowed his right brow. “Of course”, he answered, his voice steady. The lie crossed his lips easily; and maybe it wasn’t a lie after all.
Seth hoped memories would return as soon as he needed them to return – as in when he was stuck inside the Power Armor. However, before he could think more about it, he glanced to his companion. She equipped herself with the supplies for Imperial Guard. Though there were mostly armor for the Guard there was a small shelf with sets for higher ranking officers and even some for a commissar.
“You seem to be quite sure they want to get us out of here”, Seth remarked eventually, before he stepped closer to one of the hulking Power Armors and inspected it. It was the same gleaming white as every single Power Armor they had found on this ship. A thoughtful expression wrinkled his face, before he straightened his back. It would take him a while to don the Armor on his own but he intended to find it out how much he instinctively remembered.
The possibility that he had never worn such a plate before didn’t even cross his mind.
“I’d rather find out what killed every single soul on here before sitting on the bridge doing nothing,” he said while he was still regarding the Armor in front of him with interest.

"I am an Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, given authority in the name of the Emperor in his command to purge the Imperium of the heresy that would destroy it from within. Any and every citizen and soldier of the Imperium is obliged to aid the Inquisition as we see fit." Aina said proudly as she pulled on the armor of a commissar, checking that it was the best quality she could find in the Guard's section. However, she opted for an officer's helmet rather then the gaudy cap. She placed a laspistol into the holster strapped to her thigh, and pulled a belt with a sheathed chainsword around her waist. Finally she slung a bolter over one shoulder and tugged out her pendant to bear the Inquisition's seal over her armor.

"And two people are not enough to scour an entire ship, even one that was truly empty of any other living thing." Aina said as she took a backpack from another rack and began to fill it with bolter clips, canteens, grenades, and remote explosive charges. "But we are not likely alone, which diminishes our chances of discovering what has plagued this ship and surviving to report it to the Imperium. Thus we shall wait for the proper support. An Inquisition investigation team will be able to discover whatever became of the crew and the Chamber Militant of my order will scour any threats that remain. In the mean time, we shall reinforce the bridge and await their arrival."

Seth looked at her. A dark gleam appeared in his eyes, however, he remained silent for a moment and turned away from the Armor. There was something that he should know, something he was supposed to do first, before trying to get himself inside that thing. He tried his memory but it remained blank. The more he tried the less he remembered. So a growl crossed his lips, turning back to Aina. “Then I hope they will take me with you.” The little addition he was about to add he kept for himself. It was wiser, indeed.
With that he turned his attention back to the armor and reached for the first part. It might be difficult and time consuming, however, there had to be a way to don the armor.

“I still don’t like the idea of doing nothing”, Seth answered in a low voice while undressing, his back turned towards Aina. “I’d rather go and annihilate whatever out there is trying to kill us. It doesn’t mean going off and getting yourself killed. However, if it does get me killed I was not strong enough and thus my death serves me well.” He fell silent for a moment.
“So you should come with me for we could have the same blood type.” He glanced over his shoulder, quite serious with his seemingly incoherent comment.

"I will see to your safe return to your proper position within the Imperium." Aina replied, placing a Guardsman's medical and survival kit into her pack. "And we still need to secure some water before we can return to the bridge. But if we are to die, we will die for the Emperor, and we will do it properly. The only service death should perform is for the Emperor, in defense of the Imperium. To die now will do nothing."

She checked the straps of her armor and carefully examined each of the weapons she had chosen. Fortunately they all appeared quite functional. Aina looked over to Seth once again, blinking and raising an eyebrow at his last comment. "There are medical kids here, you realize."

The hill was littered with corpses. Bodies in brown and green lay spread-eagled among the mud and the wire, the burning wrecks of vehicles filled the air with the stench of fyceline. Backlit by the unceasing flash of artillery, men in long coats and equine gas-masks crawled their way up the scree-slope. In the sky above them hung a great eye, wreathed in sickly violet starlight.

At the hill-crest sat a line of squat fortifications. Utilitarian buildings of rockcrete and flak-board, every surface pitted by bullet impacts. Jagged tongues of fire leaped from the fire-slits, spitting death at the enemy advancing up the slope.

For every shadowy figure that fell, another two advanced to take it's place. A remorseless wave of diseased flesh, as much a force of nature as it was an army. Before it could reach the line of bunkers, a haunting bugle call rang out over the cacophony of gunfire.

Rising from the trenches snaking across the hill-top, the horse-faced soldiers charged forward shouting with one voice. A banner of red and gold led the charge, the bright fabric soon swallowed by the maelstrom of combat.

Above it all, the violet eye glared down as if the Gods themselves were watching...

He woke with a start. Heart pounding in his chest, a searing lance of pain burning behind his eyes. His very skin itched with tiny pricks of fire like the bite of some minuscule insect. He sat up, casting aside the moth-eaten blanket covering his heavy-set frame.

A glass set opposite the metal framed cot caught his eye. Almost as if for the first time, he studied his figure. He was tall and heavily muscled, covered in hundreds of scars. His left arm was an augmetic replacement, the crescent of sutures wandering across his shoulder and pectoral still angry and raw.

He flexed the arm. The limb twitched, but did not rise from his side. Another impulse brought another limp twitch. He couldn't comprehend what was wrong. He'd had the augmetic since...

Since...

A flash of gold caught his eye. He looked at his right arm, eyes focussing properly for the first time since his awakening. Like the folds of a fisherman's net, an array of interlocking hexagons marched across his pale skin, the terminus of each corner marked with an esoteric rune.

He recoiled on reflex, bionic refusing to move as he attempted to scratch the nagging itch which overwhelmed his senses, sending him staggering against the cold steel of the bulkhead.

The metal was cool against his throbbing head, a low groan rattling his throat as he sank against the wall. Nothing made sense. His thoughts were elusive spirits, his memories just out of reach. He couldn't even remember his name.

He spent what felt like hours curled up against the bulkhead. When his head had finally stopped throbbing, he began to examine his surroundings more carefully. The room was bare, aside from the mirror and a small vinyl-topped table set against the cot.

A data-slate was propped against a holstered las-pistol. The pistol clattered to the floor as he snatched up the tablet, the sound raising a hollow echo from the bare steel walls. The screen flickered at his touch, a stylized “I” backed by three crossbars, an inset skull glaring out at him.

After a second the symbol winked out, replaced by lines of scrolling text. First came some academic treatise, mind-numbing and impenetrable.

Then the winged skull. Grim and angular, staring out of the slate into his shattered psyche. A wave of nausea swept over him as the record scrolled past. A decorated hero lying dead on some nameless battlefield. They'd taken his name.

He swayed suddenly unsteady on his feet, the tattoos on his skin crawling like insects. He landed heavily against the cot, forcing his turbulent mind to focus on the man before him. Some half-buried instinct filled him with a wave of intoxicating familiarity. Something clicked. A barrier not so much broken as shattered into a thousand pieces.

The flag flew amongst a mound of bodies.

Halfway down the hill, the charge had been halted. The press of diseased flesh to strong even for the stalwart men of Krieg to break. So they stood back to back, ready to die as brothers. No retreat. No surrender.

A circle had formed around the banner, a ring of blades and las-fire hacking down anything that came within arms reach. Under their illustrious standard, the men of first company would sell their lives dearly.

With a great shout, the tide of flesh rent itself asunder as a wedge of armoured giants ploughed forward. Some were clad in bone and mottled green armour, bearing great scythes and barbed sickles. Others were in black and gold, wading through incoming fire as if it were spring rain.

Following their masters, the wave of walking corpses pressed in, ripping any that did not fall to blade and bolt shell into hundreds of pieces.

Under the banner, only one man remained...

He arose from the cot a more complete person.

They hadn't left him a name. Alpha would have to do. It was a simple designation for a simple task. Recover whatever else they'd taken.

Filled with righteous purpose Alpha scooped up the fallen pistol, weighing the weapon in his hand. It was perfectly balanced, almost an extension of his arm. But it wasn't his.

Oblivious to his now functioning of his left arm, he slipped on the synthetic holster rig, glancing at himself in the mirror once again. He saw with fresh clarity the scars from half remembered battles and the spaces where intricate tattoos should be.

Something in the corridor outside broke him from his revelry. Footsteps.

He didn't remember drawing the pistol, but there it was gripped tightly in his hand. Alpha prowled across his cell, the door opening with a muffled hiss at his approach. The corridor outside was as bare as the cell, a vaulted ceiling filling the space with gloomy shadows.

Voices echoed in the wake of the footsteps, every syllable amplified by the metal walls and vaulted ceilings. Moving in almost complete silence, the metal floor cold against his bare feet followed Alpha.
As they entered the armoury Alpha hung back, the audible whine of the charged pistol the only indication of his presence.

With one swift movement, he was inside the chamber with his pistol braced in both hands. Staring at them with eyes devoid of emotion, he spoke.

“Who are you?”

„Then tell me, where is my proper place?“, Seth asked, strapping the heavy plate of his armor around his leg. It was easier than he thought; his hands remembering that what his consciousness did not. “Do you know anything about me I should know?” He only as much as glanced over his shoulder where Aina was equipping herself with everything that seemed somehow useful. “Then tell me!”
It was an order, an almost dangerous tone underlying those words. However, before the Inquisitor could give a satisfying answer – or any answer at all – Seth returned the attention of his back to his Armor.
It felt familiar, more like a second skin as soon as the contacts slid into place. Without the energy backpack it had been heavy and inflexible, so he had almost feared he would never be able to move in it lest alone fight.
However as the breastplate had been the first part he had donned, the internal connections fitting in with the contacts in his skin, it had send a terrible pain through his body.
It had felt as if something had just tried to get into his nervous system. He growled and clenched his fist somehow knowing that this was not what was supposed to happen. Still he continued as the pain subsided, leaving only an itchy sensation on the skin.

“Medikits are for wounds and injuries; I’m speaking of blood type.” Seths voice was steady, now turning around, indeed dressed almost entirely in his Luna Wolves power armor, though the single parts mostly unconnected but for the power. He wanted to add something as something stirred him. Footsteps fell outside.
With one single movement he turned around. The Armor hummed slightly as it helped move the parts of the armor. Though the full support of the suit was still lacking Seth was glad the simplest task was possible in this only half-donned state.
He looked right into a laspistol trained at him. It was a man smaller than him in every aspect.
“Who we are, isn’t the question you meant to ask ‘Where are we’? Of course I will tell you who we are. We are the same as the people out there, only alive”, he replied his tone bare of any real emotion.

"Your place will be found, soon enough. Once we receive reinforcements from the Imperium, I will personally see to your assessment and reintegration." Aina said calmly, her hand sliding closer to the holstered laspistol as Seth's voice rose, but she did not touch the grip yet. She also did not mention what the Inquisition's interrogators would likely to do him when she handed him over to their scrutiny. "An Astartes does not have the same type of blood as the standard stock of humans. Now, we should focus on the task at hand."

Then the other voice called out, Aina whirling about to face it and whipping out her laspistol in one swift moment. "In the name of the Emperor, drop your weapon and identify yourself!" The pendant bearing the seal of the Inquisition continued to sway for a moment from her abrupt movement.

An Astartes in war-plate. Colours not seen for almost a millennia. Somewhere deep in his unconscious, a switch was thrown. The smell of incense filled his nostrils, the hum of distant chanting ringing in his ears. Impulses rose unbidden from the darkest corners of his mind.

A room. Black and featureless. Before him sat a hooded figure, robed in red with a golden pendent hanging from his neck. He tried to rise but his hands were bound, shackled to the steel throne.

The figure began to speak, his voice both sibilant and menacing. “The enemy comes in many guises. The heretic. The witch. The alien.”

Layered beneath every word was the chill of psychic energy, etching each word deep into his mind. “We fight the long war. Against foes which mankind has forgotten. Fallen angels, swallowed by the eye.”

The room blurred and twisted. Before him, where the hooded acolyte had once sat stood a file of armoured warriors at attention.

The first was garbed in black as if mourning, his heraldry flickering between a grey wolf and an eye wreathed in yellow fire. “Fallen sons, wolves without a pack.” The voice intoned. The second dripped blood, his armour's every surface covered in crimson. An axe hung loosely in his grip, a severed head grasped in his other hand. “They are rage incarnate.”

The procession continued. Blue and gold, sand trickling from the joints. A mottled green, the figure corpulent with corpse-gas. A screaming figure in purple and gold, eyes alight with atavistic pleasure. A book crushed by an iron-shod boot, a rearing hydra and a winged figure with eyes as black as night.

The chanting increased to a fever-pitch. “Brother has slain brother and the Malleus will have vengeance for what the daemon has corrupted.”

The wolf. The pendent. An alliance woven from corruption. She had damned herself by the simple act of talking to this abomination. The fog cleared, silhouetting the towering figure, the pounding of drums drowning out their replies, lest their foul words corrupt his mind.The voice thundered in his head, its words repeated by his bloodless lips.

“What is your duty? To serve the Emperor's will!”

The pistol cracked in his hand, a high-pitched whine scouring the air between him and the traitor. The fog lifted, the voice yelling at him to run.

Still as naked as the day he was born, Alpha darted off into the depths of the ship.