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This is part two of a series i am writing. Part one is somewhere in these forums, called 21st Experimental Genesis. This is my second attempt at writing 40k fluff, so be gentle. The name reads wrong, it should be "21st Experimental". I blame the time of day.
It has been six days since the five men and their saviour left the creation facilities in the asteroid belt. They were traveling in darkness, the spacecraft operating on minimum power. Razakel began to get worried. The man who saved them spoke, and they listened. He told them what they were.
“Spacemarines?” Razakel asked. “We can’t be spacemarines!”
He had a dim memory of what a spacemarine was. Something about Humanity’s finest. He could not remember anything else though. His life began in the cold and empty concrete room on the asteroid, somewhere away from civilisation. Everything before that, was just pitch black. As for everyone else, they did not speak of it.
The man in the black suit assured everyone that yes, they were in fact spacemarines. Of course, spacemarines who lacked training and discipline, spacemarines who never held a gun in their hands, and never killed anyone. At least, after they underwent their biological transformation. After those words the feral looking fellow with black hair growing just a little too much everywhere looked at his hands which resembled claws a bit.
“Who are you?” The man with the elongated skull asked.
The rescuer told them. And they did not believe. So he gave them proof. He stood up, removed the black shirt covering his rather slim body. His skin was a lot whiter on his chest. And a lot more frightening. The other five men were unpleasantly surprised. His chest was even weirder than theirs combined. Thin strands of bones, protruding from his solar plexus, radiating out in a complex pattern of beams and crossbeams, twisted lines and something that resembled eyes..
“I present to you, the mark of the great schemer!”
The spacemarines were not surprised. Their memories of anti-chaos propaganda were submerged in the big dark pool of side effects from the chemical treatments their bodies had to withstand. The now topless man smiled at them. Good thing their minds are not tainted by the lies of the Ecclesiarchy. Master will be pleased, the itch is cured, and everybody wins.
The tall man with broad shoulders asked why they were saved. Razakel, as everyone else looked that their half-naked saviour with question in their eyes. He told them. Once again, they did not believe him. Why them? For such things? Can’t somebody else do it? Somebody who knows what he is doing? Razakel thought about their options. Either march out into a world that they have forgotten, and find out everything by themselves, or follow their leader, that has for now only brought light in their otherwise empty lives. They discussed the matter, and agreed to follow the chaos-worshipping man, at least until they found something else to do. He told them what their plan was. Until that, they had work to do. The craft they were traveling in was a small intrasystem transport. It was empty, and therefore had lots of space for moving around. They were ordered to warm up, and stretch out their muscles. They were about to learn some fighting.
After being thrown around the metal hall, have their arms bent and twisted, and eyes blackened, they reflected on what they have learned. Razakel found that the techniques they learned were surprisingly easy to execute. It was if he knew them already, but forgot about it. Everybody else seemed to experience the same.
Their advisor informed them that they were going to approach a planet soon. And they will get to see other people. For some reason the concept of other people scared Razakel. He did not know why. They were ordered to sleep, and that they did. The man who saved them did not wake them up until they landed in the middle of a field. Short grass of a greyish shade of green covered it. Stones were scattered here and there. In the distance they saw some hills, covered in mist. The sky was like a thick blanket of grey clouds that pushed down on them.
Covered in black capes and hooded, they started to make their way across the landscape. The landscape did not change. The same hills, the same dying grass, and the same low sky. Razakel decided to look down at his feet. His world was small and cramped before. Now it was big and empty. The people he was with shared his thoughts, exept the man who freed them. He walked steadily towards the horizon. Sometimes he stopped, picked up a small metal plate from his pocket, pushed some buttons on it, looked around, and continued walking. A wind flung his makeshift coat open, exposing him to the cold. The fatigues he was dressed in were not even trying to insulate him. He was already counting his steps to keep track of time. Somewhere between seven thousand and four and the infinity, he started hearing voices. The other people. Razakel felt his both hearts race. He did not look up, and continued looking down. He walked after the reptilian looking guy from their group of spacemarines with no memories. He heard voices of several different people. An older man seemed to be ordering around people. It was time to harvest. Razakel recalled that they were speaking the Imperial Gothic, as was he. The people were going to harvest. Razakel wondered what they were going to harvest, the stepp was empty, but for the grass. And he did not consider it as something edible. Their guide led them into the small village. The houses were small, but clean. They were made of concrete slabs and looked modern. Razakel considered what modern was for a while. The small group entered the biggest of the houses. It was three stories high. Inside their guide shared a short conversation with someone, Razakel was afraid to look up. As he heard more people, talking, eating, laughing, he started to breathe heavily. Somebody asked if he was feeling fine. The guide said that he was fine, just allergic to the local flora. Razakel felt a pat on his back. He forced himself to look up. The man who talked to their guide was shorter than Razakel, but taller than the guide. He was wearing an apron, made of some sort of leather. He was rather strongrly built, but nowwhere near anyone of the spacemarines. He looked at them and grinned. Razakel noticed that several of the man’s teeth were made of metal.
“I got them kicked out in a fight once.”
Razakel nodded, and lowered his gaze again. The guide told them that they had gotten a room to sleep in. That sparked a thought in Razakel’s head. Beds. That was something he remembered.
Up in the room, which turned out to be cozy, they took off their cloaks. The walls were covered in woven carpets. The big spacemarine with the pink skin looked at the carpets in awe. He ran his hand down the wall, felt the softness of the carpet and smiled. Razakel tried the same. That was a totally new feeling for him. Softness of fabric reminded him of soft skin, and soft hair. Beautiful golden hair, that smelled amazingly. He snapped out of the dream. This was to be taken up later. Now, the guide started speaking again. They were brought here by the order of his master. They were to prove themselves as worthy of the masters attention, and wait for further instructions. The man with the elongated skull asked what they were going to do.
“You are going to kill something.”
As simple as that. Razakel sighed with exitement. His life made sharp turns by the hour. Their guide told them what they were going to do.
“The planet we have arrived to is a peaceful one. People live, worship my master, and pay tribute to the Emperor. But the worship has been partially interrupted. Something else has clowded the minds of these simple men and women. The monster that does that scares my master, disturbs his plans. It has invaded the planet, cursed the people, and is killing them slowly. Since this has only started, my master knows that a small troup of people, such as yourselves can remove the threat without drawing too much attention.”
Thoughts raced through Razakel’s head. They were about to kill something. Eager to know more, he asked questions about their victims, as did his comrades. He could almost feel the smell of blood in the air. The guide told them to sleep, so they did.
Their sleep was disturbed again, in the middle of the night. A big, orange moon looked down at Razakel through a wide window. The others were waking up as well. They got dressed in total silence. Their guide waited outside. They walked out of the room, not speaking. He looked at them, nodded, and gestured them to follow him.
After leaving the what they now understood was a hotel, they walked down the unlit streets. The darkness was almost complete, exept for the orange glow from the moon. Razakel found it comforting.
They were being lead through the city, which turned out to be a lot bigger than Razakel anticipated. The squat single or double storie houses were everywhere. The streets were empty. No windows were lit, and no sounds were heard. The city seemed dead. Following the guide they found themselves in a small alley. The guide found a square metal hatch in the ground, and opened it. The hole in the ground was filled with darkness. The guide jumped down, and the rest followed. Razakel felt the floor with his feet. It turned out to be made of metal, which was cold at the time of day. Somebody flipped a switch, and flooded the room with bright light. Only the floor turned out to be metal, the walls were made of wood. All around them were boxes scattered. Green boxes, made of metal plates, with rivets on the edges. Razakel recognized them as crates with weapons. He was proven right when the guide opened the boxes, exposing different kinds of las weapons, and a selection of chainswords. Razakel felt himself being drawn towards the latter. The others got a similar reaction, but everyone to a differet type of weapon. Armed and covered in their black cloaks they climbed out. The night was still dark, and the streets havent changed. The guide was now in a hurry, almost running towards the center of the city, where several streets seemed to converge. A house, no different from the others was their goal. The guide ran up to the door. The group of spacemarines stood outside the house, at the door. They understood that they would kill things in the house. And for some reason, Razakel rejected the idea of this cold-blooded murder being wrong. He took a deep breath, and smashed the door with his elbow.
Last edited by zenarion; May 24th, 2006 at 21:28.
I'll go out on a wild goose chase here if you don't mind.