Chapter 301 - My SI Stash #1 - Waking Nightmare by Envisioning the Dark Imperium (Warhammer40K)

-The worst universe to be Isekai'd into the story~ Even after all the MC's mishappenings, he still has it better than most... Big F/

Synopsis: Thrown from my life in the 21st century and into the Imperial Guard, this is the story of my struggle to survive in the dark millennium. This is a self-insert that will explore Warhammer 40,000 from a serious, realistic perspective. This will show how cruel and inhumane the universe can be. Expect a slow pace and development at first, I want this to truly capture the grimdarkness.

Rated: M

Words: 61K

Posted on: fanfiction.net/s/13573863/1/Waking-Nightmare (Envisioning the Dark Imperium)

PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)

-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)

Chapter 1-3 (exceptional)

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the splitting pain in my head. The second was that I did not wake up in the bed I went to sleep in.

I groaned. The pain was like being stabbed in the head. It was like the most unpleasant form of hangover I've ever had but amplified a thousandfold. The sensation was akin to having a light shone into your eyes in the middle of the night. Like being thrown into cold water, or the feeling of an uncontrolled freefall, all at once, drawn out forever.

It was unbearable.

"…is waking up."

A voice, indistinct. Male.

"Good, 'bout time."

Another. Female. Younger.

"What kind of idiot gets drunk on Offering night? He's a fool."

Another. Male. Raspy.

"He's not the only one."

The female, again.

"Where am I?" I managed to mumble, leaning forward and cradling my head, eyes shut tight to block out the throbbing pain of the blinding lights. It was receding, mercifully, but ever so slowly.

"You're on your way to the Victorious Sword," the first voice again, the male, deeper than the rest.

"The what?" I said, squinting. I was just able to make out indistinct shapes. My sight was returning, and the pain was rapidly receding. It was still hideously uncomfortable.

"The Victorious Sword. The ship we're going to travel on," the female voice came again. I could not see the speaker. "Throne, he doesn't know anything.""Looks like a farmhand to me. Probably got drunk because he didn't know it was Offering," the deeper voice said.

"Who doesn't know that?" The raspy voice again.

"Where am I?" I repeated. "Where am I, right now?"

"Aboard a transport, heading into orbit."

"Into orbit? C'mon," I m.o.a.ned. I was in no mood for jokes. Were it not for the overwhelming pain, I would be somewhat more concerned about waking up surrounded by strangers, but in my addled state I could only assume this was a fever dream, or some sort of prank. Either way, the pain overruled my concern.

"Yeah…did you not remember being offered?" The deep voice asked. I looked up, and through bleary eyes I could make out the people who were sharing my…confines with.

There were ten of us, five on either side, sitting on cold metal benches against metal walls…a quick, startled examination proved that this was the transport hull of some sort of aircraft.

"Oh, what the f.u.c.k," I muttered. "How did this happen?"

I was out drinking with my friends last night, having a good time…I thought I made it back home and fell asleep in my bed, but now I wake up and I'm in the f.u.c.k.i.n.g army or air force or some shit…what the hell happened?

"Looks like he's actually waking up, eh?" Someone new spoke, the man sitting next to me. He poked me with his elbow to get my attention.

"You remember anything at all?" he said. He was skinny, scrawny in fact, shorter than me, with tanned skin and dirty blonde hair, with an unkempt mess of hair which might pass for a beard if you squinted. A thin, stubby moustache completed the look. He was a scraggly looking fellow. His eyes were pale blue and looked to be around my age. From his somewhat ragged look, he gave me the impression of a homeless man. An uncomfortable thought formed in my mind.

Had I passed out in the street and been picked up by some weird recruitment drive? Then I remembered I was in an aircraft, and grew even more concerned. Looking around the interior of the cabin, it was definitely a plane of some sort, complete with harnesses and camo netting in the roof. What was this? Did I get thrown into a plane and sent off to an airbase as a joke? Did I sign up for a role in some reality TV? Civilians in the airforce or some shit like that?

No, not unless something very wrong had happened in the time I was passed out. So, what was this? A cult?"Hey, buddy, do you remember anything?" The same voice called out again. I looked over to the other side of the ship. The man calling out was dark skinned, with a thin layer of black hair on the top of his head. He was the tallest one in the ship, I realised, and looked like he had done hard work every day of his life. He was clean shaven and had the sort of easy-going attitude of a man who made friends with everyone.

"I remember…drinking with my friends…we were drunk, but we made it back home. I passed out in my bed, then woke up here."

"Wow, they got you out of your room. Dedication to duty, that is," it was the female voice, which I now saw came from a very pretty ginger girl next to the tall guy. She was short, and had a somewhat unkempt look, her curly orange hair stained by dirt and grease. She too was skinny. In fact, all but me, the tall guy, a rather plump dude and another, so far silent, woman seemed to be short and skinny. They also all looked dead tired, downright scrawny at worst or resigned and skinny at best. This was more than a little odd.

"Ok…who dragged me out? What sort of f.u.c.k.i.e.d up shit is this? Is this a joke? Because if not, this is a very big mistake!" I said, finally starting to regain some sense. The others gave me annoyed looks, with the only person speaking up being the fat guy.

"YES, YES, IT IS!" The plump man shouted. He was sitting in the middle of my row, next to the scraggy blonde who elbowed me. I couldn't see the other two people next to him, but everyone groaned when he said that. Apparently, they were in no mood for this. I stayed quiet, wanting to see how they reacted to someone claiming they weren't meant to be here. If I had been picked up by some weird cult, I didn't want them turning violent if I threatened to leave. I'd have to wait, be patient, and play my cards right. Then again, if I was in an aircraft, I don't know how I planned to do that.

And what was that about going to orbit?A joke, surely.

"Oh, by his golden grace, shut up Desmond!" The tall guy shouted. "We all know you don't want to be here, but you were chosen like us, so don't fight it!"

"THIS IS A MISTAKE!" The plump man, Desmond, shouted. His clothes were a lot finer than everyone else's. While everyone else looked like they had just come from a farm or a factory, he looked like he had just come from a renaissance fair. Very strange indeed.

On closer inspection, he wasn't that much older than me. In fact, he might be younger than me. Looking around, everyone seemed to be of similar age.

"I'M NOT MEANT TO BE HERE; I CAN'T BE HERE AND YOU KNOW IT! LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT, LETMEOUT, LEMEOUT, LEMOUT! OUT, OUT, OUT!" Desmond said, growing increasingly desperate and high-pitched. He was having a full-on panic attack. Tears were streaming down his face and he rattled against the harness keeping him in place.

"What's his deal?" I said, trying to be as quiet as possible, lest I attract the attention of the possibly crazy man.

"Didn't want to be offered," the scraggy man told me. "Guess service in the Imperial Guard doesn't appeal to everyone." He laughed, but no one else laughed alongside him. They all either returned sullen or cold stares.

"Wait…the Imperial Guard?" I said, confused. I had to have misheard, right?

"Yep. The Emperor's finest," Scraggy said.

"Wouldn't that be the Space Marines?" I said, joking weakly, hoping against hope that he'd either look at me like I'm a lunatic, or recognise the phrase and then ask if I'm a 40k fan. I certainly didn't want him to act as though it was a real question.

"Well, suppose so, yeah. But the Imperial Guard is still great, though."

F.u.c.k.

F.u.c.k.i.n.g f.u.c.k. F.u.c.kity f.u.c.kin' f.u.c.k.

I'm in f.u.c.k.i.n.g Warhammer 40,000 universe, aren't I? I got drunk and woke up in the 40k universe. As an Imperial Guardsman…no…an Imperial Guardsmen recruit. Holy shit. Fuuuuuck. The colour drained from my face. I never wanted to be in the army in real life. Not my kind of thing. But to be in the army in 40k…the Imperial Guard? The Astra Militarum?

Well suffice to say, I really would've chosen death then and there. In fact, had a gun presented itself before me, I would've shot myself to escape what I knew would come next. Alas, there was no gun, no means of escape and apparently no way to convince people that I was not meant to be here.

With a growing sense of fear and dread, I found myself agreeing with Desmond. I was not meant to be here. In fact, I would've preferred to be anywhere on Earth right now, rather then here, in this cargo hold, on my way to some godforsaken ship off to who knows what hell.

At the terrible realization of my newfound hellish reality, I tried as hard as I possibly could not to piss myself.

Chapter 2

Ok, breathe. Time to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Be silent. Be still. Be calm.

You are in the 40k universe. You are going to die sooner or later. Everything you do should be making sure that the 'later' comes as late as possible. Preferably as painlessly as possible too.

From now on, everything you do should be geared towards your current, personal survival. Play it smart. Play it safe. Live to see another day. Live well and die peacefully, that was the goal. I'd settle for just dying peacefully, honestly. This being 40k, hoping for either was a tall order. Maybe we'd be fighting Necrons and I could just run head-first into a Gauss Flayer and get myself deatomized. That would probably be the least painful way to go, as opposed to…being eaten by Tyranids, or chopped up by Orks, or…whatever the f.u.c.k Dark Eldar did to you. That was the fate I'd be avoiding at all costs.

"Hey, hey, c'mon, tell us your story!" the tall guy shouted at me, over Desmond's now inarticulate but thankfully quieter m.o.a.ning.

Well, have to start somewhere. Can't go wrong with making friends. Any friends, I added. More friends means more backup. More people between me and the hordes of enemies waiting to kill me to death.

"Yeah, tell us man," Scraggy elbowed me again. He seemed to like doing that.

"Don't know what to say," I said, looking up at the tall guy. I made sure to meet his eyes. I couldn't be weak or cowardly. If we were all going to be recruited, then I had to make an impression as a team player. Loyal, trustworthy, dependable. Desmond seemed to be the weakest link so far, and I couldn't let myself be anything like him. So, best start now. I just have to be better then him. So long as I'm not the weakest link, I'm safe…well, safer.

"I went out last night with some friends. We got drunk. When I woke up, here I was. I don't know why we decided to go out last night…we just could. All my friends were free."

"Most people choose to stay with their families on Offering night. You know, just in case they get chosen," the ginger girl said, looking at me weirdly.

"I don't know, guess we were feeling c.o.c.ky," I said, trying to act as though it were no big deal. Make an impression.

"How old are you?" the tall guy said, smiling. He and scraggy seemed to be the only two in good moods.

"Twenty-two," I replied.

"Ah. Half-tracker, eh? Nearly made it," he smiled. The others all either smirked or rolled their eyes.

"Well, I didn't make it, so here I am," I said, risking a smile. The tall guy seemed to like that, smiling back."I'm Prassus. This here on my right, she's Oleev. The guy next to her, Temond. On my left, is Burtrus, and then Ratfinch."

So, they know each other. Or at least their names. But from the looks they gave each other; they knew each other well.

"On your side, you'll find Clauda, then Ivet, Desmond, Egeers, and yourself. Don't know your name. Can't recall seeing you around either. Tell me, where are you from?"

"Oh, I don't know where it will be in relation to you guys," I said slowly. Shit. I didn't even know where these people were from, the name of their planet, or anything about it. Holy f.u.c.k, I was in deep. No, I wasn't in deep, I was drowning in the deep! Drowning in shit!

"C'mon, armwards or cityward?" the ginger girl, Oleev, said. I had no idea what either meant, so I just guessed. Picking one couldn't hurt.

"Armwards," I stated, with a fake confidence I didn't feel. They all cheered. All but Desmond, who just muttered about not wanting to be here over and over.

"Uplands or plains?" Oleev said. Looking closely, I realized she couldn't be anything more than 18 or 19 years old. In fact, everyone here seemed rather young, or at least, younger than me. And I was only 22. In my head, I was slowly putting pieces together. This 'offering' they spoke of was clearly some sort of mandatory recruitment. They must've drawn from everyone from a certain age. A blind recruitment? Conscription by lottery, perhaps, or were they voluntarily offered up? Either would explain why Desmond was acting the way he was.

If this really was the Imperium, and this really was 40k, then I knew that few Imperial citizens knew how shit the guard was. Especially young people. They would know nothing but propaganda their whole lives. So, they would likely think this was some grand old adventure, yes? Desmond must be complaining that he was here against his will…maybe he was well off back home? Not to put to fine a point on it, but he looked rather well-fed, compared to pretty much everyone else who honestly seemed rather underfed, bar me, Prassus and the girl who I now knew was Clauda.

Now, Prassus said I was a half-tracker, and that I nearly made it, which would mean I was almost ineligible for conscription…that must mean they only recruit from a certain age range…18-25? That would explain the comments. At 22, I only had three more years to go before I would be free of the conscription.

"Plains," I said, answering the question after realizing there had been an uncomfortable silence.

"Huh," Oleev said, seemingly unconvinced. "How far Armward?"

"Pretty far. Might be why you've never seen me."

That wasn't exactly untrue. I was from pretty far away from where they lived.

"Huh. Odd that they stick some random farmhand in with us lot. We all come from the same village, in the uplands. Close to the arm. Tandoran Village," Oleev explained.

"Ah, I see." I didn't, but the more they told me, the more convincing I could make my lies.

"So, you're a farmer, eh?" Scraggy, I mean, Egeers, said. I just nodded. Wasn't too far from the truth. I did grow up on a farm.

"What's your name?" Prassus asked. Shit. I had no idea what kind of name would fit into their world, so I blanked for a moment, only to curse myself. No one blanks when giving their name unless hiding something.

"Just call me Sent."

"Sent…short for sentinel?" Egeers asked. I nodded along. Sure, why not?

"What's your real name?" Oleev asked curiously.

"I'd rather not use that name anymore. I'd like to leave it behind," I said. I was taking a risk here but hoping that these people would build a connection with the character I was constructing. I'd like to be looked upon better than Desmond.

"Sent…yeah. You look like a Sent," Egeers smiled and elbowed me again. Good thing he was so scrawny, otherwise that might actually hurt.

"Must have had a shit life, huh?" Oleev said. I didn't say anything. Let them speculate. Cultivate an aura of mystique. Hopefully it worked in my favor. Plus, if they thought I had a hard life, but complained less then Desmond, they would think I had more resolve then I myself suspected I had. I don't know how long I could maintain this façade, but hopefully it was long enough that by the time it broke the others would like me well enough to keep me around anyway.

"My life led me here, so I can only see where it goes," I said slowly. "Are we all here for the same reason?" I said, testing the waters, trying to work out if there was anything more than a conscription behind this recruitment. I was hoping this wasn't a penal legion or some shit. That would be worse than a normal Guard regiment. I didn't think I had it in me to survive if these guys were criminals, especially if they were violent criminals. I could probably take a few of these people on, if it was one on one, since they looked rather underdeveloped next to me, but I didn't think I wanted to. Viscous desperation was common in penal legions, after all. They probably wouldn't hold back, and they definitely wouldn't share my moral obligations. They'd fight to kill, which I wouldn't do unless forced to.

Here, I was a goddamn softie. Likely heretical in my willingness to forgive and accept. Peacekeepers weren't really a thing in 40k. Every problem tended to be resolved with a weapon of some sort.

"Punishment for sins," the man next to Prassus spoke for the first time. Temond. He hadn't looked up once yet. Oleev also looked downcast at that statement. No, wait, he was the raspy voice I heard earlier. Ok, so that's who he is.

"The call of duty," Prassus said, with more cheer then I considered appropriate. Egeers smiled and laughed from across the hold.

"You?"

"I go where the Emperor wills," I said. "I am but his instrument."

That seemed to spark some looks. Good looks. Prassus, Oleev and Temond nodded solemnly along. Ratfinch, the scrawniest and smallest one among us, who sat across from me, nodded along as well. It was the first sign he gave that he was paying any attention to what was going on.

"In case anyone's wondering, I don't have a reason for being here, because I'm not meant to be here at all!" Desmond shouted again, shouting up at the roof of the hold. "I'm not meant to be here, and you know it!" He shouted.

"Shut up Desmond!" Everyone snapped at once, even Ratfinch.

"Grox-f.u.c.ker!" Oleev hissed.

"Traitor!" Ratfinch said, spitting in his face. It was a good short, from that distance. Desmond practically wailed at that.

"Heretic," Whispered Egeers, so low only I could hear.

"You know why you're here, dirty cheating lying bastard," Prassus growled. I decided it was best to let them fight this one out. They know him better then I, and I just wanted to keep my head down and stay alive.

"The Emperor Protects," I whispered, making the sign of the Aquila, thankful I knew how to do it at all.

I had to hope that he did, because otherwise, I was f.u.c.k.i.e.d.

Chapter 3

Eventually, after much yelling, shouting, and cursing at Desmond, who did not shut up, the ship we were on landed on…something. I knew it had to be a spaceship, the Victorious Sword, as Prassus had said earlier, but I hoped it wasn't.

I hoped the door would open and it would be my friends standing there with cameras, laughing at this elaborate prank they pulled on hungover me. I hoped so badly for it to be true, I was a little crushed when the cargo bay door opened and revealed we were in an immense, cavernous hangar.

A little crushed. Not entirely. The situation wasn't entirely hopeless, not yet. There was still a chance we could be off to a world that was relatively safe, or at least a world where the war wasn't so horribly dire, we would be flung right into the meatgrinder the moment we arrived.

"Everybody, time to get off! OFF! OFF! OFF!"

A loud, commanding voice shouted assailed us. Standing by the lowered door of our vessel was what looked to be a sergeant, dressed in the standard issue flak armor and helmet you see almost every Imperial Guard depicted in. He was a grizzled man, with coarse stubble, a scarred cheek and one bionic eye. He also brokered no disagreement.

After some messing with my harness, which took a little longer to get off then I would've liked, I was one of the last to stand up. Prassus had been the first, followed by Egeers. I was seventh or eighth. The last two were Burtrus, who seemed confused by his harness, and Desmond, who was sitting deathly still.

"What are you maggots waiting for? A f.u.c.k.i.n.g invitation? Get the f.u.c.k off that Valkyrie right now you idiots!" the sergeant roared. Ratfinch and I, who were closest to the exit, practically ran down the ramp, followed by the rest. Burtrus, who was finally free, got a slap over the head from the sergeant as he walked by.

Desmond still had made no move to leave the vehicle.

"And just what the f.u.c.k do you think you're doing!" the sergeant roared at Desmond, not making any effort to leave.

"Sir, he think's he's not meant to be here," Oleev said, causing the sergeant to whip around and shout at her.

"You will not speak unless spoken to, child!" he said, spittle flying from his mouth. Everyone winced and tried to look away.

"Now, why won't he come down?" the sergeant said, looking pointedly at Oleev.

"He didn't think he could get offered. He got his name off the Offering list when he was eighteen.""Offered? What the f.u.c.k does that mean? I'm not from your shithole of an Agri-world, so please enlighten me, recruit!"

Oleev blanched. Did she not know how to respond? Did she not know any other word for it?

"He avoided conscription, sir!" I said. Well, shouted, it felt more like. Everyone turned to face me, including the sergeant. He stepped over to me in one swift step and slapped me across the cheek so hard I tasted blood.

"You must be deaf as well as dumb, kid. Did you not just hear me say you will not speak unless spoken to? And the correct form of address is 'Sir, yes, sir,' or 'Sir, no, sir'! All addresses made to your superiors begin and end with sir! Am I understood, recruit!?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" I said, wincing. The sergeant looked at everyone else.

"AM I UNDERSTOOD?" he bellowed.

"Sir, yes, sir!" We all replied loudly.

"Good, now, did you hear me speaking earlier?" he yelled in my face.

"Sir, I did, sir!" I said, hoping this would make it look like I knew what I was doing. I had been on board this ship less than a minute and I had gotten myself reprimanded by the very first Imperial Guardsman I had met. My chances of surviving looked like they were rapidly dwindling.

F.u.c.k.i.n.g. Fantastic.

"Then why, by the light of Terra, did you speak, you f.u.c.k.i.n.g idiot!?" He roared in my face. I tried, unsuccessfully, not to flinch.

"I was just trying to help, sir," I said, in a much more subdued voice then before.

"Sir, I was trying to help, sir!" He looked at me with furious eyes.

"And why did you do that? Did she ask for your help?" He continued to bellow. I just now noticed he was somewhat shorter than me. I also noticed his bionic eye was even uglier in person. The scar tissue around it was all ugly, discolored and disfigured flesh. Still, I resolved to meet his eyes.

"No sir, she did not. But she looked like she needed help and a superior officer was asking a question. I thought that- "

He slapped me on the other cheek mid-sentence.

"No, you did not think! You do not think! When an order is given, it is followed! If you are told not to speak unless spoken to, you will not speak unless SPOKEN TO!" He roared, spittle flying into my face. I resisted the urge to wipe it off in front of him.

"Am I understood?" He shouted.

"Sir, yes, sir!" I said, keeping my feet together and standing bolt upright. No one else said anything.

"I said, AM I UNDERSTOOD?" The sergeant roared. Everyone quickly responded with a shouted "SIR, YES SIR!"

"Good. Now, if you want to help so badly, why don't you get that idiot off the ship," the Sergeant said, in what must be his usual calm, authoritative voice.

"Sir, yes, sir," I said, turning to walk past the others, ignoring their stares. I stepped back onto the Valkyrie and stopped in front of Desmond.

"Come on, staying here won't make it go away," I said. Desmond didn't respond. He didn't bat an eyelid.

"We're here now. Nothing we can do about it, I said. Still no response. It was like he was catatonic or something. Shell shocked.

"If we leave now, it will be easier. The longer we wait, the worse it will be," I said, kneeling in front of him.

"I'm not meant to be here," Desmond whispered, so softly I could barely hear him.

"YOU ARE HOLDING US UP MAGGOTS!" The sergeant roared again. Desmond flinched, but I tried to ignore the sergeant.

"Why not?" I whispered back.

"My father is Lord Armanlance, and I'm the heir to his estate! I'm Desmond Armanlance! My lord father would not abandon me! I'm his heir! His only heir! I'M THE HEIR TO ARMANLANCE!"

Holy shit, was Desmond a nobleman's son? Would explain why no one seemed to like him that much. I was getting a distinctly feudal feel to these people, and from the looks of it, Desmond's family were not the good sort of feudal lords. He sounded like a real f.u.c.k.i.n.g asshole, and I'd only known him for a few minutes.

"It was chance, man. Chance. Fate. Either way, you're here now. It's what the Emperor willed," I said, trying the Emperor angle. Imperial citizens are very religious, after all, with a few exceptions. I was hoping he wasn't one of them.

"No," Desmond said. "I don't want to. I'm Desmond Armanlance. I don't want to do anything I don't have to. No, no, no, no!"

"No?" I asked, stating the obvious. I was never the best at dealing with emotional people. I never knew what to say, and always felt awkward and uncomfortable around them. Definitely a failing on my part, and it was really screwing me over here. What do I say to get him out of this?

"He wouldn't want this," Desmond said, looking me in the eyes for once. "Get me out of this, and I'll pay you. I'll pay you heaps, just get me out of here," he hissed.

"I don't think you're in a position to question what he wants. The Emperor wills it to be so, it is so," I said gently but firmly. I had to remember to act like I had the utmost faith in the Emperor, even if I thought faith and religion and all that stuff was nonsense. That was back home. Here, it was very real…and very dangerous.

"Come on," I insisted, "we have to go. Nothing can change the fact we're here now, and the longer we wait…the longer you wait…the worse it'll be for you. We have to go, now." I said, undoing Desmond's harness and grabbing his arm. I didn't want to try to force him out without first giving him the chance to do it himself.

"Come on, Desmond!" Oleev shouted.

"Yeah, you f.u.c.k.i.n.g coward, come on!" Egeers added.

"Hurry up and just pull him out!" Prassus shouted.

"No, no, no! I don't want to go! I won't go!" Desmond screamed, kicking and wailing. "Let go of me, you peasant!"

"SILENCE!" The sergeant snapped, glaring angrily at the recruits before stomping up the ramp towards us. I started to pull on Desmond's arm, but he held firm. He was bigger than me, quite a bit bigger, a fat, petulant, rich kid who was in a situation he couldn't get out. He had probably never had to fight for anything in his life, but now, he was trying.

"You idiot, just come with me, it'll be so much easier!" I hissed, but it was too late. The sergeant roughly shoved me aside and drew his laspistol from his holster. I fell sprawling to the metal floor of the Valkyrie, adding another bruise to my body. For a dreadful moment, I thought he was going to shoot one, or both, of us. I was somewhat relieved when he only smashed Desmond in the head with it, knocking him out. My relief evaporated faster than water in the desert sunlight when he turned to me, gun still drawn.

"Good to see someone here has fighting spirit," he muttered, holstering his laspistol and walking away. He didn't bother offering me a hand. I don't know why he would. Fortunately, I was more then able to lift myself up, and grab Desmond's unconscious body. Carrying it however…no, I didn't think I could manage that.

"Uh…" I began but stopped myself. Was I allowed to ask for help? Thankfully, I did not need to. Egeers was there, picking up Desmond's other arm.

"I'm here to help you, not him," he whispered as we staggered down the ramp with Desmond between us. He was living a life better than everyone else here. Clearly, they didn't come from a very good place, these people.

"Thank you," I replied. I didn't know what else to say.

"That was brave, helping Oleev like that, but she won't like it. She hates being made to look like she can't do something herself. Except a lot of angry looks and snide remarks from here on out."

"I didn't know that," I said honestly. "I just didn't want her to get in trouble."

"Hey, I'm sure she'll repay you for it one day. Throne, if she doesn't, I will. You stepped up, man. You don't know us, but you helped us."

"That's what anyone would do," I said, and Egeers shook his head sadly.

"No, not anyone," he muttered.

"What are we meant to do with this guy?" I said, looking at Desmond's slumped head. Egeers shrugged.

"He can rot and die for all I care."

"Don't like him very much, huh?" I observed. I didn't ask why. I think I knew the important details.

"None of us have ever liked him, ever since we were a kid. His dad always got him out of trouble. He's never worked a day in his life. He lives in Copperswood manor, near the Arm. Likes to lord it over everyone. He'll probably hate you. You're a plainsman, right?"

"I'm from the plains, yes," I said, whatever that meant. I already knew Desmond didn't like me. I mean, peasant, really?

"Yeah, he hates you lot. Dumb farmers, he reckons you all are. He looks down on all of us, and everyone but Prassus and Clauda lives in the town. Lived in the town," Egeers corrected himself. I would've asked him to continue his explanations had the Sergeant not started speaking.

"So, you are the best of Practia's tithe, eh?" The sergeant regarded us with a critical eye. "Well, good thing I won't have to see you after this. I'm Sergeant Slate, of the Cadian 417th. We're here to train you up on the way to war. Now, me, I'm just the guy tasked with sending new recruits on their way, a duty that has been entrusted to me because I have the ability to complete the impossible task of making sure you all get where you need to be without dying!"

I had no idea who the Cadian 417th were sadly. My knowledge of the universe was not so encyclopedic as to get anything valuable from this exchange. I didn't even know what year it was, so I had no idea who, or what, we were fighting. I just hoped it wasn't going to be Tyranids. Or Dark Eldar. Hell, suddenly the prospect of fighting anything seemed a lot more unsettling. Everything in this universe could kill you in unique and agonizing ways, each one more horrendous then the last, and I for one was not eager to experience any of them. In fact, I was rather hoping to avoid this dying business altogether, unless it was either very swift or happened peacefully in my sleep.

And that was a brilliantly optimistic perspective on things, wasn't it?

I looked around at the others faces. They seemed to be paying attention now, sullen looks gone from their faces. They stood up straight and proud, ready to serve the Emperor in his Imperial Guard, totally ignorant of the horrors they'd be subjected to.

As I stood there in line, knowing what we would have to face, I did not feel like standing here. I felt like running, as far and fast as I could. I felt like running away from everything, from everyone, and finding a nice, dark hole to hide in and hope I would somehow reawaken back on Earth.

The longer I stayed here, the more this nightmare set in. The longer I stayed here, the bleaker things became.

If I didn't learn fast, I'd die before I ever even saw a battlefield.