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So I've been thinking a lot about civilian life in the Imperium and thought it might be neat to try and crowd source what life might be like on a 'typical' Imperial world by taking something normal from our world and then imagining what it would take to grimdark it up.

IE



Herick boarded the Civil Transporter an hour before dawn. Already the common-use seats were full, the only vacant seats were those in the front reserved for higher-ranking adepts than he. He managed to find a choice spot however before on of the air gargoyles which granted him occasional gusts of chilled air as the Transporter filled with hive workers, scribes, an the occasional servitor. His bones already ached from the lurching of the poorly maintained vehicle and he had another two hours before he arrived at his work station.

Like that...

Next topic - A GRIMDARK convenience store!

As he entered the work transport, he looked to his left seeing several Adeptus Arbities beating the living snot out of some poor sod who thought it would be a good idea to wear the unapproved sunglasses and sweatshirt on an official Imperial Work Train.

Remember kids, Sunglasses are a blaspheme against the Emperor.

The convenience store was crowded with hundreds of people, all quarreling over the relatively small amount of products that were available on the ancient metal shelves. People pushed and shoved, struggling towards the elektro-fences that defended the shelves, struggling for a look at the few remaining corpse-starch bars or the rock fungus beverage products or yelling out the high prices they were willing to pay, sometimes offering to pay in sexual favors or offering children as slaves. Armed mercenaries kept the crowds at bay. Standing behind the elektro-fences, they slipped items through the bars to the grabbing hands of whatever customer offered the highest bid. Those customers who tried to steal were shot. These would-be shop lifters would collapse and be stripped of all possessions by the crowd even before they could die. Riots were a daily concern when the stock inevitably ran out. Of the hundreds that came in, barely half left with anything. The remainder trudged outside, hungry and hoping for better luck tomorrow.

Next topic - A GRIMDARK car wash!

The day started as any other. Many flocked to the local Chimera cleaning stations hoping to get at least somewhat of a job to feed their family. However like most jobs in the failing hive city it required them to become a Servitor; ensuring their family had enough to just scrape by all for the cost of their freedom. Every week the old Servitors, worn from the poor parts and conditions, were harvested. The mechanical parts being used for the new Servitors and the biological being recycled into food like many other hive worlds.

New topic - GRIMDARK office.

Every single cubical was small, the tiny coginator screens had nigh-unreadable text but to write the the information incorrectly was a crime punishable by death. The Adeptus Mechanicas Skitarii patrolled the hall ways to keep productivity up, and there was always a constant buzz and whirr of the massive forges farther down in the Manufactorm.

The poor worker knew that this was a great life however, compared to the hard crushing labor that went on in the dark unforgiving depths of the Manufactorm.....

GRIMDARK THIS.

Thread has potential.

Moments later the Orks invaded and looted the front one. Everyone there were killed and the PDF was killed to a man responding to it.

New topic - Circus

In the case of Harriticus' challenge, I must point out that the picture depicts a religious festival that those poor Imperial citizens are forced to attend at gunpoint, lest the ruling government appear weak when the surveyors come to inspect the Imperial cult's influence over the populace. The animals used are grown in vats specifically for this festival and undergo horrific abuse. They die shortly after, having served their purpose as show animals for the parade, just as their handlers designed. As for the festival itself: no one knows how it started or what the symbols mean. They just follow the ancient dictates set down by their ancestors. Those elephants are paraded before the frightened crowd before they are goaded into trampling a criminal before a statue of the Emperor.

I don't know about the circus, somebody give it a shot.

There was a Grimdark circus in Ravenor, with drugged up suicide clowns fighting monsters, gladiatoral displays and gold painted naked acrobats zipping around. It was involved in distributing drugs and

On the OP

The day started much like any other, he had crawled from his bunk, pulled on his civs and made his way to the wash rooms. Today though, he felt terrible. He remembered how his reflection had looked, staring back at him with blood shot eyes, his skin paler than normal and that thick black glob of mucus he had coughed up in a fit.

To make matters worse the Grav Tram to the Food Processing plant was busy. Bodies in the isle, bodies in each seat. There was strangely one seat available, next to a lady in green who he hadn't seen before, who was staring out the window. Grateful for the the chance to sit down, he took the seat.

The Journey was a fairly long one, the Food Processing plant for Hab City 5 was a sprawling expanse of gigantic vats and pipes and a little out of the City, and it had begun to become unbearable. His vision became blurry, he was hot, then cold and he had this incessant itch on the right side of his jaw. First it had been mildly annoying but now it was burning like fire. He scratched and scratched until he heard a rip.

Wondering what the sound was he turned his head and noticed blood on his shoulder. Where had that come from? He looked at his hand and noticed the ribbons of his own skin and flesh under his nails, also something that hadn't be there before on his palm, a distinctive mark, that looked like three circles, or like the face of a fly.

He began to panic, looking around to see if anyone had noticed his distress he saw the reflection of the woman in green in the glass of the tram, smiling, looking directly at him and she began to laugh the most inhuman laugh.

Note: It's based on the guy on the mobile phone - please ignore the phone

Circus:
He crept through the alleys surrounding the main Hive thoroughfares, avoiding the occasional patrol of Guardsmen almost as diligently as he avoided the occasional rag-shrouded, drug addicted murderer passed out in choice spots along his path. They might have been just simple homeless cretins, but Eron assumed them to be drug addicted murderers just to be safe. Just to keep himself from giving in to temptation and surrendering to tonight's high early. Tonight was special.

He finally made it to the non-descript warehouse that his sources had indicated as tonight's location. He knocked furtively and was rewarded with a brutal visage which appeared on the monitor beside the entrance.

"We're closed." Barked the metallic voice.

"Always closed, always shrouded, barely known, yet ever crowded." Eron's voice broke twice as he recited tonight's proper response and then waited with trepidation. Finally the face in the screen nodded and the door slid open.

A short walk down the hall and several airlocks later Eron could contain himself no longer. He leaned against the nearest wall and removed a large needle from his pocket. He ever so carefully slid the hair-thin barb into his much-abused vein and injected the bright green fluid it held. Finally he was ready to enter the Circus.

The final door opened and suddenly every single one of his senses was under assault. Colours clashed as a hundred acrobats swung from bladed trapezes, flitting between them, catching and throwing each other through similarly bladed hoops. A huge monster of a man to one side of the entrance showed off his strength by bending a bar of adamantium steel (likely hollow, but still impressive). Beasts of every description filled the arena at the centre of the enormous warehouse, either tearing apart or being torn by their fellow captives or the whip-wielding sycophants around the sides of the ring.

As his drugs kicked in a huge smile swept across Eron’s face. His over-dilated pupils barely registered on the small three-armed girl-child who accepted his credits, smiled a horridly sweet smile and recited “Welcome to Cirque Nocturne, the dark heart of the Hive.”

Honestly, cicuses are already pretty trippy. Grimdark is not that hard to imagine.

Next topic: Grimdark Hospital!

Grimdark hospital? Too easy.

Grant woke up in agony. He'd been caught wearing non-regulation sun glasses by the Adeptus Arbites the last thing he remembered. Now he could see lights moving above him. He tried to talk, but there was a tube shoved down his neck. He looked around, seeing the crowds of sick and injured staring resentfully at him. Then the passed into a hallway and were joined be an Adept in the white robes of a medic.
"How is he?" the new man asked the people walking alongside the trolley.
"He's holding, but not for much longer." Grant whimpered in fear, attempting to ask a question around the tube.
"That doesn't matter, we have the recipient here already. The state of the donor won't matter in a few minutes," the medic said, glancing down as Grant began shrieking. "Hold him down, he might damage something."
Grant's shrieks quietened as a needle plunged into his neck.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Excellent work, medic," governor Roth smiled as he slowly returned to full awareness, glancing down at his new arm. It had been the most obvious injury, though not the most damaging, of the recent assassination attempt. The medic nodded, accepting the compliment without comment.
"You know, my wife thought that I'd need bionics, and I imagine she wouldn't like having a half metal husband! How is it that you grow the required organs in time to heal people?" the governor stopped talking to cough as his body adjusted to the lungs that had so recently tried to scream for help.
"Oh, we have our ways," the medic smiled. "The Emperor protects, after all."

Next topic: Grimdark High School.

Hospital:-

The tearful young girl dragged her tattered mother into the vestibulum, shrieking that the failing machinery in the plant had acted up again, machine-spirit angered for who knew what reason but she was the thousandth victim this month! An exorcism was clearly needed - did they not pay their tithes!?

Only after an... appropriate time had passed, a gaunt creature lop-sidedly approached, made a note of the bloody sub-optimal worker-drone's branded serial number, performed an elementary calculation and disgorged its pronouncement from its mouth on a strip of parchment: The amount of His Sacred resources necessary to repair this mal-functional drone's impairment would exceed its projected productivity throughout its life. But it could still Serve the Imperium of Man by being processed in the Soylent Viridiens plant: Emperor be praised in His Wisdom.

The daughter begged valiantly, sobbing, "But she's alwa's been a prime Imperial subject guv'nor - worked a 76 hour shift she did afore the machine got 'er, she did!"

The withered servitor, of course, immediately registered this dire insubordination, and a deeply buried algorithm ran; for the Emperor did - in His mercy - have a place for those possessed of a certain wilful and individualistic nature, a place of supreme power... 'alwa's'... 'guv'nor'... ''er'... repetition of 'she did'; no, one with this debased mode of expression was unlikely to be capable of having any potential to become such a being. The algorithm shut down and a signal was sent out.

Two living statues in the deepest blue obediently moved forward, the only flesh uncovered by their armour their eager grins, as their power mauls were runed into life with wet leopard growls.

Medicae and injured paused in anticipation of the coming entertainment, pleased to witness unwholesome assertiveness be battered into the crying ball on the cold stone floor where it belonged. Pleased that it wasn't them.

* * *

A grimdark icecream van on a weekend's sunny afternoon.

The sun beat down on the people, radiation burning them as ultraviolet rays were able to pass directly through the atmosphere without hinderence-any trace of an ozone layer had been gone for thousands of years. The people were on their day off, able to stop working for one day of the month. They crowded around the goverer sanctioned chimera, each hoping for a serving of the cool, foamy refreshment it served. Little did they know that the refreshment was, in fact, made from the reconstituted fat of the bodies of the deceased. As around five hundred people crowded around the slowly rolling chimera, some started to collapse from sun-fatigue. Regardless, the crowd continued to rush in, crushing those unfortunate to their deaths. Those who managed to get an 'Ice Cream'were rarely able to get two mouthfulls before a small brawl broke out, inevitably destroying the treat it was fought over. Those at the front were often crushed against the chimera itself, others run over because they could not get out of the way. Regardless, the progress of the infamous 'Ice Cream Van through the hive could always be traced by a trail of blood.

Next: Grimdark 'Top Gear'

top gear?

comissar jeremy clarkson casually executed the guardsman who had touched his facourite Leman Russ Demolisher, while bannersergeant Hammond was busy repairing a broken engine. Together the two men were attached to the 134th cadian mechanized regiment, as was private James May, a leman russ driver. A lack of more potent man had gotten him his position, and he was renown for his exeptionally slow driving. Were there more men who had completed the LR traing, Clarkson would have executed "Private slow" for incomtetence along time ago.
The regiment was stationed on a lonely planed in the London segment, supporting an infantry regiment in a war against a savage ork waaagh.

Suddenly, the vox caster buzzed and cracked, before the man on the other vox informed them of another attac

"how hard can it be?" Clarkson shouted as he reved up his Russ and raced it toward the thick of the fighting.

Now grimdark "holiday"

Grimdark High School-

Pupils trudged in ranks up the steel ramp herded by the Doctrinae magisters, who used their electropulse tipped staves to shock any who faltered or looked around. No noise could be heard except the treading of feet or the whimpers of those unfortunate enough to be jabbed viciously by the magisters. Once inside the gloom of the Doctrinae facility, the ramp closed, and the dull fluorescent lights in the cramped corridors flickered on. Without a word, the pupils made their way to their training cells, their dull grey fatigues upon their skeletal backs made the crowd seem like the shifting surface of a water harvesting plant.

Each pupil had their heads shaved, and wore identification collars with their name, pupil number and their pict under a grimy transparent plasticoat. On entering the bare training cells, these were scanned by a servo skull, registering them and logging their time of arrival. The members of training segment P.31242 entered their designated class without a word, filing into the rows of benches, holding their dataslates in their bony hands. The magister sat atop a pulpit, overseeing the class, grasping her stave in one hand with the other hovering over a built in hololithic cogigator, which was projecting the STC of a Agricolus class harvesting engine in front of the class. Once the class had settled, she formed the sign of the Aquila, and the pupils followed suite, their heads bowed toward the magister. They had just begun the Litany of Toil when pupil 1932GI burst into the room, gasping for breath and scrabbling for the ID card around his neck. Grasping it, he scanned it under the servo skull, only for it to flash red, indicating the obivious; he was late. Without a word, the magister drummed some commands into the cogigator, and a hulking servitor shuffled from the back of the class, its blank expression impassive as it dragged the screaming pupil to the detention centre. Looking back at the class, the magister smiled wryly as she reformed the sign of the Aquila.

I think the trains in Japan are pretty grimdark already. They have professional train packers who pack them in like sardines by hand and then flatten them out with big glass sheilds so the door can close. 40K can't top that.

I know the topic on the table is the Grimdark Holiday but what I can I say I got inspired last night...

GRIMDARK MOVIE DATE



Heinrick waited nervously outside the theater. His freshly shaved head aglow with a thin film of persperation, his heart aflutter, would she actually come?

Then through the ever-present chemical mists he saw her, her hair in a short bowl cut, her shapeless gray adeptus robes doing little to hide her feminine charms, Hildegard Quandt, the newest adept in his section.

She'd been transferred to the section, fresh from the Schola Progenium just a few weeks ago, to replace old Hiram whose implants had finally failed. They found him drooling under his desk one morning. Since that blessed day Heinrick had the joy of sitting just three workstations back and two over from the vision of loveliness known as Hildegard. It had taken two weeks to finally work up the courage to pass her a note during prayer services asking to speak to her during the half hour of free time they had between the end of their shift and when they were expected in their dorms at opposite ends of the compound. He'd timidly suggested that they use the upcoming Feast of the Emperor's Holy Might to attend a screening of the Saga of Yarrick-Hero of Armaggedon Vol 1, a vid drama highly recommended to instilling proper feelings of loyalty and inspirational courage.

He did not mention how his dorm mates had recommended it for certain steamy scenes which, they said, would certainly help get Hildegard in the right mood.

It was the bravest thing Heinrick had done in his life.

And when she accepted it was the happiest day of his life.

He greeted her with a shallow bow and she reciprocated awkwardly. She blushed and giggled.

Heinrick showed his copper aquila marking him as a Gamma class adept. The servo skull's eyes lit up green and the two were admitted. A mere Alpha, Hildegrad was duly impressed, she would have to labor for years in the knowledge looms before she was able to gain access to amenities such as the Palace of Propeganda on her own.

But Heinrick's pride turned to disappointment when he tried to get admittance to the plush balcony seats only to have the servo skull's eyes glow red and the waiting gun servitor growl ominously. The two quickly backed away and they took seats in the common level.

Just in time too, as the doors sealed, the lights dimmed and the waiting servitor orchestra began to play The Battle Hymn of the Adeptus Astres followed by Hail, Hail Clan Häupl the anthem of the current ruling family. Then the servitors were lowered back into their pit, the curtains pulled back and the show began. Servo skulls buzzed overhead to ensure the audience were giving the vid drama their full attention.

The story began with with Yarrick's birth on the sacred mountain of Alto where he was tended by a flock of two headed eagles. It continued through his parents' tragic death and Yarrick's upbringing in the Schola Progenium where the brilliant young student was soon lecturing his own instructors on the finer points of the Imperial Creed.

There Yarrick met a fellow adept Margit Nünke and the two soon developed a relationship, often holding hands below the lunchroom table and, in one of the anticipated steamy scenes, kissing her cheek in a deserted stairwell.

During that scene Heinrick daringly slipped his hand into Hildegrad's slender fingers. And to his eternal joy, she closed his fingers over his. But they quickly jerked their hands apart when a prowling servo skull shined its searchlight in their direction.

Then the story took on a different tone as marauding Orks attacked the Schola compound and the young cadets had to rise to its defense.

In the final scene as Yarrick stood triumphant over his foul Xenos foes as Margit emerged from an underground shelter. She ran to him and embraced the young hero. Yarrick realizing that attachment to the weaker sex would only hinder him pushed her away. When she began to weep and wail and demand he stay with her the Hero of the Imperium drew his bolt pistol and calmly shot her for impairing an adept in the performance of his sacred duties.

As the credits rolled he received a message packet with his first assignment as a Commissar, to a planet known as Armaggedon.

The lights returned and Heimrick and Hildegrad filed out silently along with the other adepts. They casually bowed to one another and walked away in opposite directions.

They never spoke again.



NEXT UP - GRIMDARK HOLIDAY

I had one more for the first one actually. The transport was actually a vehicle requisitioned by the local PDF to draft civilians onto morgue detail. They would get off and pile on the mutiliated dead bodies of their sons and daughters to be burned for fuel. Afterwards, they would all be force marched back to what is left of their shelled out homes to do it again the next day. Behold the city of Boucherrok!

grim enough?



Movie night? hrm... all I can come up with is:

Henry and Jane are the last survivors in a devestated town the necrons had purged of all life some months ago. They were somehow missed and found shelter in one of the few buildings left with power, (the local movie house which was not occupied at the time of attack so was spared). Starving having eaten the last of the left over popcorn days ago, they huddle together in the seats watching a repeating clip of a movie about cranberries that they do not know enough machine prayers to change. They sit together waiting for either the necrons to come back and finish the job or for starvation or disease to end their misery. *notice the other empty seats in the theater* If the imperim found them first, they'd probably be shot for having seen the necrons or executed for deleriction of duty as they were both guardsmen that failed to check in some weeks ago. And they lost their lasguns.

tsz52 wrote:

A grimdark icecream van on a weekend's sunny afternoon.

Gahan Wilson's "Mr. Ice Cold"

KamikazeCanuck wrote:I think the trains in Japan are pretty grimdark already. They have professional train packers who pack them in like sardines by hand and then flatten them out with big glass sheilds so the door can close. 40K can't top that.

I've yet to see the plastic shields they use as my job doesn't have me taking the subways at 7am over here
Though we do have the all women only trains so that they wouldn't get groped/felt up by the morning traffic lecherous old men.

The reality for most of the world's poor is far worse than any grimdark.

Don't think there's an active topic right now so I'm going with one inspired by Joey. Grimdark Soup Kitchen!

Eron shuddered awake with a start. His left eye was bleary and puffy in stark contrast with his mechanical right. The difference in focus between nearly made him lose his stomach. The nausea subsided as quickly as it appeared, as if his stomach realized that it was completely empty anyhow and what’s the fething point.

Dragging himself upright Eron took a second to sneer at the irony of his previous night’s lodgings. Who was the drugged up murderer now? The mocking voice was small and hollow and was quickly overwhelmed by the demands for some kind of sustenance. He stumbled out into the lamp-lit street, brushing refuse from his uniform and tossing several colourful streamers into the trash as he passed it. Was it really only a few hours ago that he was kicked out of Nocturne for pinching the topless acrobat?

A quick pat-down confirmed that he had been relieved of the few credits he had been carrying (hopefully by the aforementioned acrobat and not the slug of a man who had thrown him out) so Eron chose his course accordingly. Only a few blocks over the concentration of the decrepit homeless swelled noticeably as Eron drew closer to what he knew to be the only source of free food for miles around. The ration dispensary was technically not a charity but had been funded for several years after the hunger riots which had swept through this sector of the hive a decade past.

Apparently paying for processed protein supplements mixed with low-grade fab-grain was less expensive than outfitting a garrison twice the minimum size. Who knew!?

Eron got in line behind a stooped figure and was immediately the tenth person from the back of the same line. It was a busy morning for the “soup kitchen” as always. The line shuffled forward a step at a time and wound around and around as Eron approached the dispensation windows. His mind was wandering in memories of last night’s debauchery so Eron barely registered the alarm that sounded from his undamaged ear implant. The high-pitched growl of approaching chimeras should have sent him running immediately.

His pleasant memories vanished in rush of terror as Eron saw that the soup kitchen was completely surrounded now. No escape. The back ranks of homeless where already being lined up and escorted between the chimeras and to the mass transports beyond. Apparently the governor had decided to save some money on fab-grain again…

And now a special presentation of GRIMDARK HOLIDAY



"There will be joy!" The laud hailers bellowed. "There will be celebration!" They continued. "There will be happiness!" The servoskulls added as they buzzed above the assembled ranks of adepts.

Heinrick shuffled slowly into the aging Civil Transporter along with the rest of his work unit. He stiffled a yawn in the pre-dawn hours and climbed the steps. He was fortunate enough to get one of the last free benches. The fifty adepts behind him would have to stand.

"Hail to clan Häupl!" The laud hailers demanded. The adepts responded with a weak hail. "Hail to Princess Evi!" The adepts responded with a bit more enthusiasm.

A preacher took up position next to driver. "Our most beneficent masters in Clan Häupl have decreed a day of celebration in honour of the 15th birthday of Princess Evi, third daughter of our Governor. There is to be great celebration and songs of joy on this blessed day!"

Heinrick had no idea why this warrented a celebration and not Princess Evi's other fourteen birthdays or those of her sisters and brothers. But as the saying goes 'the wise servant knows his place' and no one dared to voice these questions.

The Civil Transporter lurched to life and began its journey out the compound gate. Through the armorglass window Heinrick could see the shanty towns outside the compound walls. It was his first time outside those walls in almost a decade. For some adepts it was their first time ever.

The Transporter rumbled through the shanties and then into the wastes outside the city. A few skavies threw stones, bricks and even promethium bombs but the they bounced off the armored sides of the Transporter. Bursts from the roof-mounted heavy stubber dispursed them before they could prove to be true threats.

For the next few hours the adepts sang hymns of rejoicing while outside the shanties turned to polluted wastelands, then the wastes into desert and the desert into hills. Then they began to descend towards the coast.

Finally, just as they finished the 34th verse of Blessed is the Emperor Who Girds Our Souls the Transporter lurched to a halt and the doors opened. The Adepts dutifully shuffled out.

Blinking in the unfamiliar sunlight and warmth Heinrick noted that two Transporters were missing. Perhaps they were merely delayed, or perhaps their ancient engines had not been up to the task of crossing the desert. Then he turned his head and... at last saw his reward for years of service.

The sea was vast and blue stretching out as far as the eye could see. Small white avians flew overhead. Green trees, like the ones Heinrick could glimpse over the walls of the Overseer's garden towered over them. And above them, the sky, normally grey or noxious green, was a magnificent blue broken only by clouds of the purest white. No wonder many adepts had fallen to their knees weeping and crying out in praise of the Governor and the Emperor himself. Karl had rent his garments and was letting the sun beat down on his unprotected chest as he wept in rapture. Even Heinrick had to stifle the urge to shed his heavy brown robes and run laughing into the surf.

"Return! Return!" The servoskulls and laud hailers screamed. "Return! Return!" Enforcers emerged from a small bunker painted to look like a bungalo, they patted their shock mauls and web guns menacingly. Heinrick pulled on Karl's robes tugging him back onto the Transporter. He could see another line of vehicles entering the gate. They had to be gone before the next group of guests disembarked.

Soon the Transporter lurched back into motion. Through the armorglass Heinrick could see the Enforcers savagely beating two adepts who had refused to leave. He wondered what their fate would be.

They passed through the gate and began to climb the hills. It had taken them nearly 12 hours to arrive and might take even longer to return. Their holiday had lasted but 5 minutes. But the memories of those five minutes would last them all a lifetime.




Next up...

The GRIMDARK job interview.

I'll do a short one.....

the youth was brought before the comissar. The two guardsam who fetched him quickly saluted and withdrew. a servo skull flew by and observed the scene for a few seconds.
"They have told me you were found wandering the hive. You will join the Imperial Guard. how old are you?"
"18"
"Sir! 18 SIR!"
"Yes, Sir..."
"do you know how to use a lasgun?"
"No"
after a long silence, he added "....sir"
"Can you carry heavy loads?"
"No....sir. I dont like...."
"this individual is utterly useless"
the last thing the young man saw was the polt pistols muzzle....

5 seconds later, the Commissar was shot by his immediate superior for wasting valuable Bolt Pistol rounds on such a petty matter.

KamikazeCanuck wrote:I think the trains in Japan are pretty grimdark already. They have professional train packers who pack them in like sardines by hand and then flatten them out with big glass sheilds so the door can close. 40K can't top that.

Oh god, it's funny 'cuz it's true!

40k can definitly top that, 40k would just close the doors and not bother with stuffing them it

Grey Templar wrote:40k can definitly top that, 40k would just close the doors and not bother with stuffing them it

Bisecting several commuters for good measure.

I've always wondered if there was such a thing as a commissar school. What would happen if all of them did something wrong. Would that mean that each one executed the one right next to them and so on. And then the last one is accepted as a commissar? Sorry but that sounds like Law School in a jiff.