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A new note: After much deliberation, I have decided that the name for the main character will no longer be Reficul but will be Rogal. No, he is not one of the primarchs as a child, he is simply named after the primarch. It seems like it would be common practice to name one's child after the primarch of Terra no?

Notes: anything in quotes is people talking, and in this, the first episode most of the talking is the narrator. Please feel free toapply whatever actors voice you wish for the narrator. Anything in parentheses is sound FX, visual fx, camera movements, and my own, annoying personal comments, which will almost certainly detract from what putrid storyline there already is, and make it something much more foul. (sorry that was so long) Also, shortly after starting to write this episode, I realized that trying to write it just like a screen play makes it sound like garbage... well, more so than it already did. So to describe what's on the screen, I'll just write it like it's a book, and if there's something really weird going on, I'll describe what the camera is doing/looking at to the best of my ability.

(at the beginning of the movie, the second paragraph of the intro in the 40k rule book is put on a blank screen line by line.... you know the part that ends with, no matter what happens, you will not be missed.)

"The city had turned Grey."

"The filth, the dust, and the vacant gazes of people I once knew had robbed my home of both its warmth, and its chill, leaving nothing, but the sound of shuffling feet, the sound of rain, the sound of guns. As with every inch of my planet, war had come, taken what it could from us, and left, leaving a dull emptiness inside the souls of everyone who surrounded me."


"But my soul burned."


"The forces of that dam traitor swept through my home, burning, killing, laughing, as they did it. The forces of emperor, beloved by all, may grace rest him on his golden throne. (that part whispered, like an often repeated catechism that one would get used to saying if they were in hiding). Could do nothing against the freakish hordes of what used to be their proud brothers, as they were cut down and mutilated. Of my family, only I was left unscathed or untainted by the filth that they brought with them.

"When there was nothing left to destroy, nothing left to burn, nothing left to steal, the hordes of the traitor left my streets. Taking with them what had once been my home, leaving nothing but cold walls, and empty souls."

"But my soul burned"


(The oil fires burn in drums of corroded iron, casting pacing shadows on the walls of broken homes. People huddle around them, trying to regain the warmth that was stolen from them with the arrival of the traitor legions, the warmth that was provided by food, shelter, family, and friends. A child in ragged clothes walks down the cratered boulevards, glaring with undisguised contempt at those huddled around their fires. He tries to make eye contact with the people he walks by, but their wide, staring gazes are fixed on the gesturing fingers of flame, or wander aimlessly, sliding over him without pausing, searching the crumbling buildings for specters they will never find. He walks by wordlessly. His gaze hardens)

(new scene, the camera shows the kid walking down the street, stopping in front of a building with a gaping hole where there once was a door. Now replaced by a feeble, frayed piece of cloth. The child walks in, gazing in unrestrained anger at the remnants of the hab (habitation) building. He walks around, the sound of his footstep echoing loudly in the emptiness. He gathers what few possessions remain and starts to leave the ruined building. He stops before the exit, his eyes screwed up in a vain attempt to suppress tears. He turns, making the sign of the aquila (I was wondering what this looked like for a while, and apparently, it's just making a bird with your hands that's supposed to look like the imperial eagle... weird))

"Goodbye" he says, "May you find your way to the emperor's side, and find sanctuary in his sanctity"

(With those last words, he leaves, and begins to walk away. He walks for days, striding through the crowded, shell shocked streets of the lower hives, stopping only to hear the vox reports of the still raging fights between the cultist of chaos, and the forces of the Imperium, both sides reeling from the loss of their commander. After walking for eight days, the sound of explosions, and screaming grows in the distance, and the Vox reports on the retreat of traitor forces. The people surrounding the public voxes begin to cheer and celebrate, hugging, kissing, and crying in their joy. The boy, who had overheard the voxcast, glared in contempt of the ignorance of the people around him, foolishly celebrating their imminent destruction. Several of the celebrating men, now aware of the one person not celebrating the news of the destruction of chaos forces, strode purposefully over to him.)

" 'The gak is your problem eh?!" one of them shouted, grabbing hold of the boy's shirt, and lifting him into the air. " You sad to see those traitor bastards die?! Your probably gakking one of them you little $h!t!"

(At that last comment, the child's eyes widened, then narrowed, twin suns of anger boring into the soul of the man holding him. )

" You idiot." he rasped " You will all die, All OF YOU!!!"

(Taken aback slightly, some of the men stare nervously at each other, while the one keeping the boy up glared up at him )

"The gak are you talking about huh!? Didn't you hear the Voxcast? The dam traitors are retreating!"

(The boy continues glaring, but his gaze softens a little in pity)

"And where do you think they're going to retreat to? As they continue to lose ground, they will continue descend towards the depths of Terra, trying to escape the wrath of the emperor. In a matter of hours, this place will be overrun by traitors, and anything in their way will be cut down."

(By this time, the immediate area around the boy is absolutely quiet, his statement underscored by the sound war, which had grown noticeably louder over the last few moments.)

(then the screaming starts. A wave of dirty, screaming bodies comes roiling down the street, trampling the fallen, as those in the rear are mowed down by a rain of las fire, and bolter rounds. The people in the streets add to this mass, forming eddies of those disoriented by the sudden fighting that are soon smashed by the oncoming wave of refugees.)

(In the confusion, the men who had previously accosted the child dash into the closest building, dumping the boy in the street as they run. Almost before he touches the ground, the child is up and running after them, ducking low with practiced ease, and taking cover inside the building.)

(There he sees strangers, scared, and huddled in the corners of the rooms, some of them tending to their wounded. Some of them sported crude weapons, chunks of concrete, metal pipes, and antiquated guns. There they waited for their death. The child stares slack-jawed at the naivety of them.)

"What in the emperor's gakking name are you gakking doing?! RUN!!! If you want to help the wounded, kill them and RUN!!! There are worse things than death at the hands of traitors!!!"

(Suddenly the men from before come crashing down the stairs. They have rifles stamped with the imperial seal. They ran around the room, screaming at people to get up. One of the men came running up to the boy, his eyes full of fear and anger, his knuckles white as he grasped his rifle.)

"What should we do?!" he gasps, his eyes darting around the room. his eyes widening in fear as he looks at the doorway and whips his gun up to his shoulder.

(His head explodes as a bolt round crashes into his skull. The jerking, headless corpse begins to fall, firing wildly in his death throes. The boy turns around in time to see a figure in the door way, his armor adorned with spikes, and a star with eight points, crumple as he is shot to death by the other men in the room.)

(The boy dashes by the headless corpse, stooping as he runs to pick up the man's rifle, shouting for the people around him to flee up the stairs. As shots start to fly in from the doorway, the panicked mass of people mill around in confusion, pushing, shoving, falling, dying. Those who can run up the stairs, and those who cannot try to flee. The child continues up the stairs, at the head of several dozen refugees.)

(he dashes to a window, desperately looking for some route of escape, as more cultists start to enter the buildings lining the streets. A hand grabs his shoulder. Without thought he spins around, kicking out as he does, toppling his would-be attacker, and bringing his rifle to bear on his foe. A man, dressed in freshly torn clothes, stares up at him in controlled panic, blood seeping from the side of his head. The boy takes his foot off the man's chest, and raises his rifle as he helps the man up. The man points up the stairs gesturing for the boy to follow, he stops though, as the boy hands him his rifle, and pull out from his waistband a large pistol, caked in dried blood.)

(The boy looks at the man, his eyes burning with determination, anger, and fear, and gestures for him to lead.)

(After several hours of running, and hiding, the boy, the man, and the scores of refugees that fled with them, come to a halt, their breathing ragged. The sound of fighting had stopped for the most part, as the forces of the deposed Warmaster prepared to meet the onslaught of the loyalists.)

(The man holds out his hand as he tries to regain his breath.) "Lebo" (is all he says as the boy takes it) "Rogal" (the boy replies. With introductions over, they look out over the people that have followed them, and consider their fate)





Also, please post comments, suggestions, anything. I've got two people who like it and would like to hear from more of you, even if all you say is something like "YOU SUCK!!!!" 'cause that will at least give me the pleasure of plotting revenge on you while I go to sleep. (^-^) And if you have an idea about names, plot points, or anything else, please post or PM me

daddy likey... it was written well enough so that i could watch and enjoy it with my little friends in my head.

lol.. well i'm very glad that someone likes it. I'll come out with the next episode as soon as I can get some free time

This is great. It creates a real feeling on the wars. Well done.

For actors, I cannot say, I'm not knowlegdable in that area.

Anyhow: Great job, I'm hoping to see more.

Thanks for the comments... it's so nice to know people read this stuff.

hello,

I enjoyed this, yet I have one question. How old is the boy he seems very competent and understood the fact that the traitors would fall back into the town when all the other adults didn't realize. also he seems to be a pretty good fighter. sorry if I sound like a jerk.

Petesamd

I was planning on him being around 14. His ability to realize what the adults did not was not only because of his intelligence, but also because of the naivete of the people. These were people who had watched from pict screens as chaos destroyed what had bound them together as a society. The fact that the chaos forces were being routed blinded them to the danger at hand. It's sort of like winning a great victory only to be killed by some careless accident.

Reficul's fighting skills are a product of survival of the fittest, he has lived through hell, and in order to survive, he learned how to take care of himself.

Your questions were really good, and no, I don't think your a jerk. thanks for the comments

You're just torturing yourself.

... How?

I love it

WOOT !!! TWO VOTES!!!!

To the people who voted that it was too long to read... would it help if I split the story up more? The length is due to the fact that I wanted something that could fill about 10-15 minutes of television time so... yeah

Keep the comments and the votes coming please... I really appreciate the support

Alright... to make this easier to read... I've decided to split this up, I'll put the new episode in a new post so that it doesn't look like a novel... yet

Episode 2(thanks for reading)

(The night of the underhive of Terra brings little respite to the refugees. Though the sound of battle had faded to the rumble of the advancing imperial line, the sound of small arms fire has been replaced with the twisted, melodic, gibbering chants of chaos, denying the limitations of the human voice as they snake out from the streets and alleyways, entwining themselves around the souls of those who had fled with Reficul.)

(The moans and the whimpering cries of the refugees are quiet as Rogal sits at the lip of the roof of an abandoned hab. The crunch of gravel alerts him to the presence of another, and, instincts and adrenalin taking over, he spins, aiming his stubby pistol at the chest of his would be attacker. Before he can even pull the trigger, the gun is grabbed, one finger tightly jamming itself between the trigger and the handle, before the gun is ripped out of Reficul's hand. Casually twirling the heavy pistol in one hand, rifle pointed at Rogal's chest, Lebo smiled impudently down at the boy. Handing the gun back to Rogal, he sat down with a tired sigh and looked over at the glaring boy.)

"Those reflexes will get you killed" Lebo says.

" 'The gak are you talking about? I almost killed you!" the boy mutters not meeting Lebo's eyes.

(Lebo smiled again, and snorted at the boy's arrogance) "listen" he said, his tone softening " If you had killed me, you wold have started a panic, the people we brought with us would have starting going crazy, and those dam traitors would be on us in moments." Lebo pretended not to see as the boy's eyes widened for a fraction of a second.

" The hell would I care for? I'd be able to get aw-"

(the punch tokes him full in the side of the face, sending him sprawling in the rubble, his pistol sliding away from his hand.)

(Darkness took him.)

(Seconds later, his eyes fluttered open. Disoriented, he tries to sit up, and is defeated by the spinning ground. A hand swims into focus, and he grabs it, pulling himself up and standing shakily. Reficul looks up, and Lebo's face stared down at him, shadows of menace darkening his eyes)

"Don't grox$h!t yourself" (he says as he half carried, half dragged Rogal over to the rest of the refugees.) "Schneider! Daryl!" he barks tersely, throwing his rifle at one of the men who came running " You're on duty. Keep those eyes peeled or else I'll peel them for you!".

(The men laugh nervously, their eyes flicking from the staggering boy, to Lebo, to the glow of fires that had sprung up around the city. Their eye's hardening, they stalk to the lip of the hab, the set of their shoulders, the slow steady sweeps of their heads, exuding determination.)

(Lebo followed Rogal's gaze, seeing how his eye's, now completely devoid of the glazed quality that the concussion had given them, took in the bravery of the two new sentries.)

"Those men will fight until their last breath, they will never give, never surrender, and never despair. They're fighting to prot-"

"I don't have any gakking family, I don't have anything like that to protect!" Reficul whispers savagely

"Neither do they." Lebo says quietly, depositing Rogal on a metal crate, before sitting beside him. "They fight for honor, they fight for the memories of their dead children, their dead wives, and for the Emperor" ... "why do you fight?"

Rogal stiffens, and turns his head, his eyes boring into Lebo. Lebo blinks, taken aback by the hate in the boy's eyes.

"That" he says, quivering with anger, "Is none of your gakking buisness"

(Sighing expressively, Lebo gets up, the stretching of his arms accompanied by small pops that echo quietly in the hab. He takes a few steps, then turns to face the boy, squatting down to his eye level)

"You have a responsibility to these people," Lebo says, ignoring Reficul's protests, "Whether you like it or not, you saved these people, and whether you like it or not, you won't get your revenge without them"

(With this last sting, Rogal's head snaps up, and, glaring at Lebo, he gets up, and stalks away. Lebo looks after him, expressions of anger, exasperation, and sorrow working themselves across his face. Still squatting, he looks up into the belly of the hive, the man made sky a myriad of butresses, and crenelations. Something, beyond the chanting of cultists, and the crack of small arms fire, pulls him out of his reverie. A crawling sensation that he had not felt since that afternoon when the boy had come, fortelling their imminent destruction. He rises, hands shaking, and fought against the panic and bile rising inside his throat.

Suddenly, the shaking stops, as he realizes what is wrong.

He cannot hear the sound of artillery.

He dashes to where the refugees are camped inside the hab, catching up to Reficul as the boy stalks away. The refugees notice his panic, and a murmuring wind sweeps through them. Babies are woken, and their cries are uickly stiffled, families are held close, as fear begins to waft almost paplably from them, making the ruins of the residential building feel stifled.

"What is it now Lebo?" Rogall says, turning, and impatiently shaking off Lebo's hand

"There's no time for this! The guard are moving their artillery into place, and if we don't get the gak out of here now then we won't last longer than five minutes!"

To underscore Lebo's words the sentries come bolting into the hab followed by the fiery roar of powerful detonations. Whatever the sentries might have said though, was cut short as they are consumed in the backwash of an explosion that shattered the relatively intact front of the hab. The ravaging flame cooks of the ammunition in the stubby pistol Reficul had given the sentry, its wild shots pulping the body of a man covering two young screaming girls.

All is pandemoneum. The screaming and shouting competing with the artillery barrage for decibilic dominance. Some run for the exits, others merely fall on their knees, some even pulling out parchment dedicated to the praise of the emperor, others wander around, eyes having just witnessed their families destruction vacant. As Reficul watches, he see's a man with blood spurting from the stump of his arm shout furiously at the heavens, demanding that they return his arm, before the man faints in a pool of his blood, pumping slowly from his wound.

Turning from the horrific sight, he notices a girl staggering around aimlessly apparently unharmed, but obviously ignorant of the carnage around her. Without thought of consequence or recourse, he dives out from under his shelter, flying through stinging slivers of stone that sting, and lacerate his skin as he runs, ignorant of the danger to her side. He grabs her, and the lack of lucidity leaves her eyes.

Screaming, clawing, and biting, she desperately attacks Rogall. Heedless of her struggles, he tries to wrestle her into a cove of collapsed rubble. For all his un-child-like strength though, she throws him off, bleeding from deep scratch marks.

Rolling over on the ground Reficul stares as the girl falls to her knees, an expression of pathetic beatification on her face. A roll of thunder buffets her. And a flash of light slashes through the fire hued darkness, caging her in a pillar of light, before she is buried under a cascade of rubble.

Pretty good but before I throw my 2 cents worth in, I have a question or two.

First) Why did you choose the devil as your hero(Lucifer)?

Second) Are you really thinking of this as a screen play or as a novel?


Possible critiques:

The plot device of lucifers name backwards is a little transparent.

Try writing it as a novel or war diary(leave out camera directions and just write what you visualize) then when done transcribe or get somebody who'll do it.

Don't be so down on yourself. It's ok to critique yourself just don't over do it. When you do there'll be a tendency to throw away perfectly good material and its hard to promote your work(get people to read) when people think if the writer hates it that much why should I bother. It's ok to be humble, just don't go to far.

With the american short attention span and lack of auditory learning ability you're probably gonna have to explain the world the these people live in. Yes, I mean the in the Grim dark future there's only war type suff. If your openly trying to make a GW novel/screenplay make use of what they give you. It's not plagerizing when you get permission and or give credit.

The early encounter with the refugees, when he says "you idiot. You will all die,ALL OF YOU!!!"The mob would probably try to kill him on the spot. No matter what he said. Frightened suspicious people = lynching. Which might be a way to go then have him do something extraordinary, divine intervention, or this is where the guard comes in. Or, my favorite they beat him, despite his protestations and warnings of the enemy approach, getting ready to kill him when the Chaos forces appear and he still saves them. Not from concious decision but just natural instinct.

No sobbing on the my own brother line, just cold calculated fury that ends with a spit.

Just a few ideas. Use them or not, your decision. Just keep at it and you'll feel more comfortable. Also write what you know and like. Don't write for everyone else, write to tell the story.

Great critique Focused fire thanks a lot... seriously... not being sarcastic here.

focusedfire wrote:Pretty good but before I throw my 2 cents worth in, I have a question or two.

First) Why did you choose the devil as your hero(Lucifer)?

Well, of those who have read this, however few that may be, you are the first to get, or at least make mention of, the Lucifer thing. I've been deperately thinking of a good name for him... though when I say depseratley I mean thinking about it on the rare occasion that I write this thing. As to why, well, the kid is pretty well unhinged by the graphic death of his family, and the ruthlessness of the boy matched.

Second) Are you really thinking of this as a screen play or as a novel?

I don't really know... but given my lack of experience in making screenplays (and I mean TOTAL lack of experience) this will eventually turn into a novel, and the whole part about the camera will be edited out of existance, leaving those who have been with this story from the beginning very confused, maybe.


Possible critiques:

The plot device of lucifers name backwards is a little transparent.

Yes... I know, it was a temporary thing that I grew too lazy to fix I didn't mean for it to be some clever manifestation of my incredible genius.

Try writing it as a novel or war diary(leave out camera directions and just write what you visualize) then when done transcribe or get somebody who'll do it.

Well, since this thing will probably get no further than dakka dakka, or maybe into the hands of my friends anime publishing corp, I wil just stick to the editing of the camera parts, which are, I realize, extremely annoying

Don't be so down on yourself. It's ok to critique yourself just don't over do it. When you do there'll be a tendency to throw away perfectly good material and its hard to promote your work(get people to read) when people think if the writer hates it that much why should I bother. It's ok to be humble, just don't go to far.

Maybe it was something that only my freinds would get... let me rephrase that, though now, in hindsight, it was obviously something that only my friends would get, I thought all that fake humility was funny... though if it interferes with the story I should probably remove it huh?

With the american short attention span and lack of auditory learning ability you're probably gonna have to explain the world the these people live in. Yes, I mean the in the Grim dark future there's only war type suff. If your openly trying to make a GW novel/screenplay make use of what they give you. It's not plagerizing when you get permission and or give credit.

ok... more description of terrain? I meant for this section of the story to be early memories that the boy has. The relative lack of description, and the use of present tense (which I have come to despise and will dispose of as soon as possible) was meant to give a sense of confused, and hurried fighting and killing which give Reficul (that is a god awful ame isn't it? lol) few memories of his home. It may not be a great plan, but hey, it's better than no plan... kinda

The early encounter with the refugees, when he says "you idiot. You will all die,ALL OF YOU!!!"The mob would probably try to kill him on the spot. No matter what he said. Frightened suspicious people = lynching. Which might be a way to go then have him do something extraordinary, divine intervention, or this is where the guard comes in. Or, my favorite they beat him, despite his protestations and warnings of the enemy approach, getting ready to kill him when the Chaos forces appear and he still saves them. Not from concious decision but just natural instinct.

Though in the 3 stories I've written I have never failed to kill of my main character in either heroic, or extremely depressing ways (in addition to swathes of freinds and family I might add) there was no good way of carrying out your suggestions (which I considered) without having my character die. Though divine intervention is really cool when done right, there is no way for me to set up the means for an effective example of Deus Ex Machina, with the exception of the Guard coming in. however, that will come later... meaning tonight now that SOMEONE has forced my hand

No sobbing on the my own brother line, just cold calculated fury that ends with a spit.

Just a few ideas. Use them or not, your decision. Just keep at it and you'll feel more comfortable. Also write what you know and like. Don't write for everyone else, write to tell the story.


beautiful sentiment sah

Can't wait to read the next installment.

Trust yourself, more question less. And as to the intro description, not so much terrain as a(for lack of better analogy)Star Wars a new hope intro. Some way of quickly getting the uninitiated into a 40k storyline(When Lucas did it, it was genius if you do the exact same thing it will be unoriginal). You have a good begining, just as the story progresses find ways of letting people know what the political landscape/history/current events are in the 40th millenium. You don't have to do it all at once. Also, don't try to cover everything. Just slip in a bit here and there to give depth to the world you're creating.

May the muses of inspiration and eloquence accompany you on this creative journey.

Try using smaller words. Us aussies down under cant read all that good.

Alright folks, episode 2 is finally done.

Still looking for a name for the boy, if anyone has ideas, please post them or pm me

You have a knack for making the pictures in my head coincide with what im reading. Well done good sir! And for a name does it have to be futery? I mean, Bible names are the same or similar to what people call their kids now.

A couple of questions. Is the boy one of the lost primarchs? A reborn emperor that the inquisition is going to attempt to assassinate? Or just a natural born hero of human stock?

If its the Emperor try "Elijah" after the eternal man myth.

If one of the primarchs something tongue&cheek or D&D great Hero sounding.

If just a natural born human hero, then something addressing how the imperium is able to keep track of who is who when there are that many humans in the galaxy. I mean do humans in hives have only numbers, like drone 10875618948 until they become heros or members of the military or is it like John Smith XXII of Armaggedon. This is something I've always wondered about.

As always these are only ideas.

Whoops, it would seem that I am a very bad author...

The story, as of now, is occuring literally days after Horus was killed, and the emperor mortally wounded. The Reinforcements from the Space wolves and Ultramarines(is that right... holy crap I need to do some research) have landed on Terra, and the counter attack is driving the heretic forces into the bowels of terra. Mr-I'm-still-looking-for-a-name is an underhiver who survived when cultists first boiled out of the underhives. However his parents died and **************** deleted for spoiler violations******* ******* *** ** ***** ******* to the forces of chaos. This is why he ****** deleted for spoiler violations******.

He is human stock, and is not space marine material, nor is he a psyker... just in case anyone was wondering. However, he is very... very driven.

The story is supposed to be about the reconstruction of the imperium after the virtual death of the emperor.

Here are some names that I pulled out of my @$$ just now

Skorpus

Porthos

Gerard

Durram

Dorn (it was common for people to name their children after primarchs... probably still is... in fact ******** deleted for spoiler violations********)

If anyone is still interested in this story, I would like to apologize for my lack of updates. I have been doing school-related activities for 11 hours a day for the past month and a half and that's not including homework from my three AP classes...

I promise that i will post something tonight... I hope :/

Ok i cant find it. Please send me link. So I can see it and post it on battlefeildgamestexas.com

Episode 3 has been far.. far too long in coming, but it will arrive shortly. I know I've said this before, but this time it's the truth.

As always thanks to those who read. More to those who vote and most to those who comment.

I hope you enjoy this next edition.

Having been away from this story for a long time, I realize that my style has probably changed. If it is a good change or not, please tell me so I might better write this story. Basically: I need some comments to guage what my prolonged absence from Dakka has done to me. Thanks for your support.

Episode three.

Rogal's world narrows until it occupies nothing but the pile of rubble that had crushed the nameless girl. The deafening pounding of Imperial armor strikes fade to the level of erratic heartbeats, as memories of the death of his family clash with the present and leave in their wake a confusing miasma of distorted emotions.

He reaches out to the rubble

Suddenly he is hefted bodily into the air and his world snaps back into reality. Lebo is screaming at what is left of the refugees and herding them out of the hab unit. Illuminated by orange flame and obscured by black smoke and dust, he carries Rogal out of the collapsed shamble of the building that had sheltered them. Rogal shouts at Lebo, who lets him down, pausing for a moment to survey the meager few who survived the destruction of the hab as they mill about in the wreckage, looking to the alleys and cratered streets for safety and escape.

The bombardment stops, and replacing the rolling fire and constant thunder, came the distant sound of battle. Without hesitation, Lebo lurches towards the sounds of fighting, followed closely by Rogal. The refugees follow tentatively, their faces betraying their misgivings about moving closer to the fighting after having survived those hellish minutes of shelling. After a few minutes of darting from ruin to ruin however Rogal grabs Lebo's arm and motions at his ear.

"listen!"he hisses, and Lebo frowns, cocking his head in an attempt to sort through the jumble of noises to isolate whatever Rogal had heard.

A pillar of scorching flame roars out from the covering of a manhole in the alley, the duracrete buckling from an explosion that shook the surround. Plaintive screams from dying soldiers reverberate out of the cracked ground along with the sound of bitter close quarters fighting. Another explosion, and another gout of flame splits the deck of the super-hive, exposing the combatants to the terrified onlooking refugees. The dull gleam of imperial eagles, clearly distinguisheable in spite of the film of sewage that covers them, shine on the breasts of their carapace armor.

Rad