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Very nice, thumbs up.

Thank you Thenext part shall be from the sergeant's point of view btw.

Oh, and I think it might add detail and depth to our stories if we both makwe references to the characters fighting. Just an idea.

Great idea I'm all for that.

Great, thank you

Sir, I bow to you. Excelent work. hose commissars really mess things up

Thank you! Dem Commisars though..

That's the price you pay when you don't shoot down the nutty idea two certain commies have about ruling a planet. Hopefully you read the latest encounter between Harken and Carrus Trondheim, they behaved like they were idiots. But that's what you get with two so strong alpha males being both the best of friends, and enemies. They need to fight each other.

Indeed.

I should have chapter three done by this afternoon.

CHAPTER 4: Blood


Willem was getting bored. This was his fifteenth patrol around the compound today. Security had tightened enourmously ever since the Govenor had been killed. Butchered in his own house, just as bloodily as the common street arbities. Many had questioned the possibility that the murderer had been the same that had killed the Arbities, but how could the supposedly insane rioters have entered the Govenor's household, slaughtered his highly trained veteran bodyguards without triggering any of the security systems? It just didn't add up. It made no sense. The compound was actually a large web-like system of underground bunkers surrounded by a thick, nigh impenetrable ferrosteel wall, barbed wire and numerous heavily armed positions mounted atop it. The planet was a hellhole. He could risk it. He could see the daily ash-cloud aproaching through the darkening grey sky. It would be cold soon. Very cold. He would return in ten minutes or so, it never hurt to be careful. The compound was located in the centre of the gargantuan hive city, the glowing spires looming in all directions. Willem had sent the rest of his patrol inside about five minutes or so ago. They needed the rest. His patrol was coming to a close anyway, and he very much doubted anything important would happen over the course of twenty or so minutes.

Movement. Very slight, hardly audible. But still there. No civilian in their right mind would be out at this time and all other patrols had long returned. Willem takes his bolt pistol, an older make, long outdated out of its leather holster at his side as he carefully walks closer. The shadows move again, this time closer. Much closer. And it had a friend.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"

With an earsplitting scream, a figure leaps foward, bloodied shock industrial pipe in hand and charges. Perfectly trained for this situation, Willem instantly steps fowards and swings his mechanical hand around, the metalic fist catching the figure directly in the forehead. With a sickening crunch the man's head explodes, fragments of bone and brain sent flying out the back of his head, dead before he hit the ground. With a cry of unearthly rage, a second man leaps from the shadows, this one holding a shock maul, crackling with white hot energy. The second figure swings his maul but Willem sidesteps and catches the man's weapon, tearing it from his grasp with a strength he could not hope to match. Spinning round, Willem smashing the bulky weapon into the figure's gut. With a violent spasm, the man crumples, spitting blood from his twitching mouth. The man looks up just in time to see Willem's knee impact against his skull, his nose snapping and teeth violently ripping loose in a burst of blood. The man, now moaning loudly falls to the ground, trying despiratly to crawl over to his ally's weapon. With a sneer of discontent, Willem brings the maul about again, the energy weapon effortlessly spreading the man's head across the filthy pavement.

Panting slightly, Willem kneels next to the gory corpse. The man was an Arbities, his normaly navy blue armour crudely pained over in black paint, a large red star on his chest plate. The second assailant had been a worker, by the looks of the uniform, from only down the road. He too had the foul symbol emblazened upon his front. Both had the words Chimaera hai, quia multi sumus writen in green paint onto their clothing . They were facing no simple riot, no gangers, no rioters. This was an uprising. He had to inform his superiors.

With the deadly ash louds closing in, Willam walks hurriedly back towards the compound, shouting wildly through the Vox caller in his mechanical hand.

What ya think? I'm very tired at the moment so it is probably not my best, but its just a little more about the sergeant.

It's very good, but where is Willem's men during the patrol? The higher the rank, the more you must involve.

Thank you, I'm editing now!

Done.

CHAPTER 4: (Continued)

Willem was drunk. Veeeeeery, veeery drunk. He been at the bar for about an hour now but it was getting hard to remember. He had delivered his message, several units as well as a dozen or so sentinels had been sent to sweep the city sector. He had wanted to go with them, but that bloody lieutenant had kept him back for.... well, he didn't remember. Being so profoundly drunk however, meant he remembered nothing. Wait. Yeah, the lieutenant was a girl. I think. Wait. Yeah, yeah.

He couldn't go out now either. Not in his current state. He was sitting at his usual spot, the dimly lit chair at the bar with half a dozen empty glasses scattered around him. He was surprised he was even aloud in here, it was a place for the highest ranking officers and generals to meet, drink and talk. Willem was only in here on account of his medal and likely his recent discovery.

"Another." He slurred, sitting up, head swaying slighty. After a long moment the woman behind the counter passed over the drink, his usual. The stuff tasted rancid but it worked like a charm, he could alreadly feel himself becoming more woozy and his vision blurry. And so very tired. He didn't care what anyone else thought, he had deserved this. With a glance around, he saw the same lieutenant as earlier. She was nice looking, long, flowing brown hair and tall. She was about his age, he could remmber from earlier. Clearing his throat, he gets up unstedily, taking a moment to right himself. With a charming look, he walks over, ready to use his legendary womanising skills, and slumps over onto the sofa next to her, passed out. As the last vestiges of sensible thought leave his mind, he thinks...'Still got it' and laughs quietly against the surface of the couch.

Tada! Aything I could improve?

It's nice, but speaking of random, Willelm magically teleported into an officer-bar, and drunkingly try to check up a chick who, if I understand correctly just debriefed him and is a commissar. I can see a few outcomes from this, and none are very pleasant for Willelm due to general knowledge of how chicks react to my own personal charm when I'm hammered.

Well if I describe myself outside and then later describe myself in the kitchen, it can be assumed that I went inside, and went to the kitchen. Juast because I don't detailedly describe it, doesn't mean it didn't happen. Oh, and he won't be executed or something like that because he never actually hit on her, just walked vaguely towards here, and colapsed onto the sofa, unconious and laughing quietly.

I know that, just felt a bit fooled by what you have left out. Willem first had to report, then was debriefed by the commissar, then he was hammered and decided to hit on the commissar who had just debriefed him. There is a pretty big chain of events there that is skipped.

Well just drinking several beers and getting drunk does not really make an interesting story.


EDIT: OK, OK, its not a commisar now. He hopefuly won't get headsploded now.

That depends. If he is drinking alone, I agree. Put in some company, and you can have a good story. And the debriefing likely didn't involve beers, I mean he was interrogated to check if he was contaminated.

You make a good point. I'l write something telling what happened.

CHAPTER 4: (Continued).


A small, very small, part of him wished he had never reported the rengades. The moment he had entered the building, two heavily armoured storm troopers had 'escorted' him to the cell. The room was small and grey, lacking windows and lights. The only things within the room were a metal chair and bed, both welded to the freezing, ferrosteel floor. Willem had briefly wondered about the lack of door, nothing but a rectangular gap at the enterance to the cramped cell. He had quickly however discovered this was not the case as he foolishly tried to simply walk out. He had realised the mistake not a second after his foot had passed through the doorway. Damn lasers. Shouting out half in surprise and half in pain, he falls backwards onto the cold ground with a thud. With a pained grunt he looks at the damage. The bloody lasers had cut deep marks into his boot and had slightly hit his foot, the skin turned bright red, fine droplets of blood dripping from several paper-thin and nearly invisible cuts. He should of payed more attention during the tech updates.

After that, all he had done was sit on the bed reading his little guardsman book thingy. For a good laugh. He found the section on Tau weaponry very funny. After about an hour or so, a figure aproached the doorway, he could see the shadow against the chrome floor. Slowly he turns round, seeing the newcomer. It was lieutenant Abigale, an old friend of his, he had known her during their time as conscripts. Obviously she had been much more successful than him, she was a lieutenant.

"Hey Abi, I'd hug you if it wern't for these damn lasers. What are you doing here? What AM I doing here?"

"Hey Willem, I wish we could meet again in better circumstances, but this is bad. Since you reported those two renegades, reports of dozens more have been reaching us from around the city, picking off loners and the weak. Listen, I'm not suspecting you, but i've been ordered to bring you in for corruption testing. Some idiot even thinks you're possesed."

With that the lieutenant walks over to a nearby glowing embeded into the wall and taps a ten-digit code into it. There is a loud buzz and a brief feeling of hair standing on end. As soon as the noise quiets down, two tall masked stormtroopers both wearing heavy carapace armour step into the room. One places a heavy, gauntletted hand onto his shoulder, guiding him fowards, while the second presses a high-tech hellgun against the back of his head, finger on the trigger.

With that, the lieutenant walks slowly, turning slightly to throw him an apolegetic look. The two slowly move him down a dark corridor, lit only by the occasional red light positioned on the sides of the wall. After several minutes, they stop at a large, black door. On its front lies an embolem of a golden eye with beams of light eminating from it. One of the troopers, the one at the front, bangs his fist against the door and then they enter.

Inside is an ornately carved wooden chair, easily Willem's height, bedecked in strange equipment and what looks like a hood where the wearers head would be. Several glowing lights dot its surface, lighting the whole thing up like some strange, festive decorations. The two troopers walk him over to the bulky thing and push him down into it. While one of the fastens straps around his wrists, feet and neck, the other moves round to the side of the device, turning several green dials and entering a long pasword. With his job done, one of the troopers, the one holding the hellgun, makes his way towards the exit and leaves. The second trooper continues flicking several switches for a moment before moving around to the front. The man moves the hood-like thing onto Willem's head with a loud metalic click. With this, the trooper steps backwards and leans against a wall, obviouly bored.

At first nothing happens, the only sound a low static sound. After five minutes or so though, its gets progressivly louder, making it hard to think. By the ten minute mark, the sound has become deafening, a thin line of blood running down from his nose and into his half open mouth. It would of tasted salty but none of his senses seemed to be working properly, everything around him turning odd hues while the smell of rotten fish and honey fills his nostrils. The last thing he sees is the trooper walking casualy over to the machine and pressing a large red button. With that the static dies down and he falls into blissful uncontiousness.

With a start he awakes in his bed, still dressed in his crumpled uniform, dried blood encrusted onto the neck of his uniform. He needed a drink.

By the way, this goes just before the piece about him being drunk.

As always, please give me your opinion .

Next part will be from the point of view of Havelok again, YAY!

I say old bean, this was good. I liked how you described the testing

Thank you Trondheim. And thank you Beavix for persuading me to do it.

I'm still awaiting that mention Beavix

Oh it's nice, but I sort of waited for the binge, as I like the complete story before commenting.

Yeh yeh its cool, take your time, it is YOUR story afterall