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Judge Max Hergenhahn pounded along the streets of Coralla, the night stillness punctuated by the thudding of his heavy Carapace boots. His quarry was no more than a dozen paces ahead of him, and running scared. The Judge smiled as his augmented body allowed him to narrow the distance considerably.

The pursued man glanced hurriedly back over one shoulder, his face a mask of fear as he realised that the Judge was gaining.

Quickly, the man darted left down an entryway between two monolithic buildings, and momentarily out of sight of Herganhahn. As the Judge rounded the corner, he saw to his satisfaction that the man was now trapped; the entryway, though broad, was a dead end, surrounded by high ferrocrete walls on three sides.

The man stopped at the end of the Entryway, and turned quickly to face his pursuer. There was no escape. There was nothing to hand to assist the man, save the usual junk and detritus strewn on the ground. The only object of note that Hergenhahn could discern was an object which appeared to be an old, battered Lunchbox near the man's feet. As Hergenhahn stopped, his eyes, assisted by the lenses of his Baroque Judge's helm, discerned a picture of a squig painted on the side of the Box. A speech bubble emerging from the Squig's mouth proclaimed "Squiggy sez kondem ur neybuz to earn rashun pointz!"

"Cornered at last, Marak" Declared Hergenhahn triumphantly, coming to a stop. "I've tracked you all across the Levant system. Murderer, Terrorist, Heretic. You've been clever, I'll grant you that. But now I have you, and now - "

The Judge paused. Had that Lunchbox just moved? No, impossible. No more distractions.

" - and now, it ends", he concluded. He drew his heavy, .50 cal Stub Pistol from it's holster, and pointed it at Marak's face. "Are you going to come quietly, or must I pull the trigger?" asked the Judge.

"Why come quietly, Judge?" Replied Marak, defiantly. "There'll only be a summary hearing, after which I'll be condemned to death, anyway" Although unarmed, Marak raised his fists, taking a step towards the Judge.

"Very well", returned Herganhahn, dropping the aim of the pistol slightly, so that it was now pointing at Marak's throat. "I need your head intact to claim your bounty. I wouldn't wish to damage it. It will be fairly quick. When my bullet takes you in the windpipe, you should bleed to death in around thirty seconds. Enough time to consider your crimes", smiled the Judge, wolfishly. He made to pull the trigger.

At that point, something so completely swift and unexpected happened that the Judge paused mid-pull. A very large, white coloured, armoured fist emerged from a small Water Tap which the Judge hadn't noticed, mounted on a wall between the two men. The fist, gripping what appeared to be a Bolt Pistol, swivelled in the direction of Marak.

"No!" yelled the Judge, but it was too late.

The Bolt Pistol fired three times, impacting Marak's torso and head solidly, before blowing his trunk and cranium into red gobbets of flesh and bone. The fist then swivelled in Hergenhahn's direction, firing a fourth time. This time, the round took the Judge in his left Calf, cracking his Carapace open and tearing a fist size chunk from the limb. Swearing foully, the Judge collapsed onto his side.

In disbelief, he now watched as first a heavily armoured leg, another arm (this one blue coloured), then another leg, and, with an urgent and determined grunt, a body and head, pulled free from the Tap. Hergenhahn now saw that the figure was an Astarte.

"Fear not, good citizen!" Bawled the Marine through the vox caster on his green coloured helm. "I have rescued you from this miscreant! No need to thank me!"

The Marine now walked towards the lunchbox, opening it to reveal an imperial Land Raider, of the same livery as he. Leaping into the driver's hatch, he gunned the engine, before declaring "All glory to the Galactic Partridges!", before ripping off a huge doughnut on the tarmac and powering past the Judge, running over his uninjured right leg with a crunch in the process. The Judge screamed again.

"Partridge Scum!" Yelled Hergenhahn after the Marine, who turned and yelled;

"Haters shall hate!" over his shoulder.

Hergenhahn hated those glory hounds...

Written for a bit on fun, after having read about the Partridges elsewhere.

Feel free to pick my grammar apart or otherwise criticise!