"Emperor damn these too small uniforms!"
The normally deadpan and stoic Liam begins to swear up a storm as his too large frame gets stuck very quickly.
The low ranking adept sees Liam's struggle and remarks in the same droning tone:
"Should this one fall, we would welcome if you were to bring his body back.
He is excellent material to craft a combat or heavy duty servitor out oof."
Kenneth eyes the clothes with distain "I grieve having to cover his holy emperors colors, but it shall be done for it is part of the mission given by him..."
Kenneth takes a minute to get changed, then another minute to store away first his own gear then the mission gear. After that there is still a minute to help others... or 30 seconds since altought GoW didn't mention it it probably also takes time to 'store' yourself with feet facing forward. So someone can take +30 on the... 5th roll if necessary.
He also perks up at the remark of the adept: "Our heroic fallen shall be returned and burried with due honors! This is your world! Do not try to imply you have a shortage of lowlive and scum to be lawfully sentenced to lobotomization!"
"This world has been under siege and in an state of total war since 64.8 years.
It has a shortage of everything but rock and volcanic ash.
The population of this keep was below minimal working capacity before my birth and is now less than 7% of what it was before the coming of the great war.
We know your customs way vary from ours but as long as you are on this world and want our scarce help, you will be subject to our by necessity dictated customs.
Is not the creedo of your cult: Only in death does duty end?
Well, on this world, you are only dead when your body is beyond the grasp of the smiths and then you will have served your due fully."
Somehow, the monotone matter of fact tone of this adept makes those news even worse...
Though YOU wanted OUR help pal?
Having lost some time, Liam manages to finally squeeze his massive shoulders together enough that he can reach the other sleeve behind his back and twist into the suit at last.
MacGuyver slides into his suit with exactly zero trouble. He quickly stores the mission gear, double checking the detpacks, before his own. He then assists others as needed. He does all this without speaking and often silently. It's like he wants to stay as far away from the possibility of being noticed and serivitorized as possible.
With sixty seconds passed and unable to squeeze into the armor Simmins looks around.
Help!
With a little help and a bit of force, everyone is strapped into their overalls, the gear is stored and locked away.
At the T-30 mark, everyone has found a place to lay down - except Anatoly, who just stands close to the front of the casket.
The side door slides shut, offering a last view on the adept with the monotone voice making the sign of the cog as a way of goodbye.
A low tremble runs through the cylinder and suddenly, unexpectedly the metal studs on the overall bang against the metal of the casket, literally anchoring you to the floor with the power of several dozen powerful mag-locks.
In addition, you feel the parts around your femur deflate until you feel a pretty unpleasant pressure sealing the blood flow into your legs!
Remarkably, the situation isn't enough to break Liam's bored expression. Instead the does his best to look around as much as possible, trying to see how many faces he recognizes.
A wave of terror creeps up Kenneth' spine but he quickly intones a prayer to the emperor under his breath. Having surpressed his own fear he decides to tend to the fear of his fellow soldiers!
"Do not fear my friends! For he on earth has sent us on this mission and his loyal subjects have provided us with this safety gear, knowing full well the capabailities of the human body! They will not fail us!"
Considering the fact we're launching multiple missions AND they know the human bodies capabilities so well...
Yeah, those words 'bout bringing bodies back suddenly seems more...deliberate.
Let's hope they are not willing to sabotage us just to get more servitors.
After helping his fellows to get themselves and their gear stowed, Anatoly takes hi place on the sled. He utters a prayer of thanks to the Omnissiah in a quick burst of binaric cant as two of his mechadendrites reach out and clamp onto features on the sled that seem placed for just such a use. Now properly braced bare seconds before the scheduled departure, he stands impassively as the sled starts to move.
MacGuyver starts, well, flipping out. He bucks and strains against his mag-locked suit and starts muttering about "them" and how "they're coming".
In his head, it's the ambush all over again. His legs trapped, orks all around. His squad dead and in pieces around him. The portion of rockrete wall pinning him down presses yet harder as the Ork that sliced his squad to ribbons munches on Sgt. Smile's leg. He has to get out. Hide. Run. Hide. Run!
He stops after about half a minute. He comes back to reality and starts changing prayers to himself. This is not there. There is no wall. No orks... Chant and pray. Chant and pray.
Both Simmins and MacGyver nearly crack under the unfamiliar situation but beside a the startled yelp of the scout and a (probably unnoticed) heavy trembling of the tank hunter, the fire-team takes the stress well enough.
And with the catechisms of endurance and faith from Kenneth, even those signs of unrest are quickly under control.
Then, your field of vision gets all blurry and red.
Acceleration several magnitudes stronger than anything you ever felt is propelling the casket forward.
You feel a horrible weight on your chests and breathing becomes painful and strenuous in the extreme.
You can hear your heart hammering in your ears and it feels like a good part of your innards are about to come spilling out of your ears and nostrils as they are pushed upwards from the pressure.
Then, its gone and the feeling of normal is a stark contrast to the world wrenching force from before.
Now follows a period of boredom.
You are still mag-locked to the floor and the windowless steel tube is rushing through the belly of this foreign world.
From time to time you are pressed harshly to the left or right as it takes a sudden turn but that's all there is.
After about half an hour, a strong deceleration forces starts, causing the weight to return with the sole difference that this time it feels as if your brain is going to fly out of your left great toe.
Then the casket stops.
The side opens up and a mechanical arm peeks in, showering you with red scanning light...
... then retreats.
The door shuts and before you can do much beside breath in, you are again hammered into travel mode by the mighty strong acceleration.
This process repeats one more time, another half an hour later.
And after that, everyone feels their nerves for real.
The next time, you would have to get out of this windowless steel casket and enter enemy territory.
I think we're earning a real cushy spot on the right hand side of the Emperor just fo this Simmins mutters.
Speaking silent prayers under your breath, you anxiously await the final deceleration phase.
As if finally comes, it still hits like a truck.
And then it comes to a standstill that feels somewhat final.
The maglocks on your overalls disarm and release their iron grip just a second before the slide door opens.
Low red light fills the inside of your transport together with an ominous combination of smells - one of which is the coppery aftertaste of blood...
As you step out, you find yourself face to face with a horrifying servitor.
Even under normal circumstances a servitor is all but a reassuring sight.
But this one, is really horrible.
Where usually they have this ever expressionless, withered face - this one seems to be eternally screaming in inhuman agony and terror.
The eyes are just blank scorched sockets and what little of its human flesh remains is scarred, white and shriveled as if all its blood had been removed.
There are about ten more of them in the small room that looks much like the one you started in.
In the wall ahead of you looms a dark corridor, barely lit with the same red light.
In one corner of the room, a bloated mass of flesh, wire and brass is erected in a way that suggest a sinister reason at work.
The horrible servitors gaze at you and the cargo within the casket, until they start to move towards you in an eerily synchronous manner...
Kenneth shakes in revulsion but with a strength of will forces himself to to torch the lot of them with cleansing flame.
"Refrain from gunning them down! Revolting as they may be we were told to expect being scanned before entering! Reacting violently here will no doubt compromise use! Get away from the train entrance too, they might just be what once amounted to storage servitors, trying to unload the train!"
And just as he says he clears himself from being between the servitor... thing and the door.
MacGuyver immediately dodges the monstrosities and moves out to the side. What kind of crazy was the Admech pulling down here? Were these traitor servitors? He hopes the resident TechPriest will know.
Simmins, loaded with a variety of weaponry turns to Anatoly as he moves aside. How do we take 'em out Anatoly? When we need too. I got Melta and slugs...
First things first, secure the weapons, and something like a heavy bolter needs some rustling up at the best of times.
Ideally, getting out of the suit would be a second thing, but not until they were sure the servitors weren't a threat.
Liam gets the heavy bolter and the ammo for it out.
Anatoly's mechadendrites twich as he visibly shudders in revulsion. His voice is as even and pasionless as usual, "If it comes to that, Gunner Olways, judicious application of solid projectile ammunition should suffice for these. Move aside from them for now, and do not engage unless they initiate hostilities. Our best chance of putting an ened to this Heretekical abuse of the Omnissiah's knowledge still lies in stealth for now."
So saying, two of Anatoly's mechadendrites reach out and pick up the squad's cargo and he moves aside from the servitors, clearing their path to the casket. As if to belie his calm words, Anatoly's ballistic mechadendrite, while barely clearing his should to remain inconspicuous, tracks the movements of the servitors.
That's all MacGuyver needs to see. His hand drifts toward his pistol and he nonchalantly moves to the storage crates to help dispense the group's equipment. They should be kitted up in no time.
The servitors keep coming and coming and then ...
... they simply pass you as if you were not there at all.
They enter the transport cylinder and one vanishes within moments after the last member with the last box has left it.
Several seconds pass before it returns.
A moment of confused inactivity follows, then all servitors turn around and march back into their waiting positions.
Leaving them alone seems to have been the right call after all.
You are within the lion's den at last.
From the briefing you recall that as a first step, you should link up with the other half of your squad.
It ought to have arrived a few minutes prior in a very similar place one level below this one.
Schematics show a possible route along a series of corridors and flights.
As one of the servitors pass you by closely you get assaulted by its horrific version of the noosphere.
It is a screaming, wailing, struggling and boiling like a sea of molten metal close to the boiling point.
Impossible equations, statements, endless recursions and literal nonsense that form into screaming faces: it causes metaphysical pain just by being around it to one with the true sight.
After everyone is in full gear and ready, MacGyver takes a deep breath-in and heads out first, nearly instantly vanishing from sight in the low-lit corridors.
Counting to 60, the main group consisting of Anatoly, Kenneth and Simmins soon follows with the trailing Liam bringing up the (heavily armed) rearguard.
The corridors, while superficially reminding you a lot of those in the loyal MEchanicus facility, emanate a menace that make everyone feeling on edge.
Those around Kenneth profit from his low, continuous preaching but both scout and rearguard feel a nagging feeling at the edge of their minds.
It feels like fingernails scratching over glass in a far distance, barely audible yet undeniably present...
After a couple minutes, close to the flight of stairs that should lead to the lower level, where your comrades ought to arrive, you hear the telltale signs of heavy footfall approaching from dead ahead.
Trusting in your stealth skills, you quickly and quietly rush ahead to check out this potential danger.
A small group is coming your way, along the main corridor with no obvious intent to leave it anytime soon.
It consist of a single human in a black coat, a bare head covered in horrible, heretical tattoos and something like a whip in one hand.
Stomping ahead of the man is a trio of servitors with that horrible expression of agony and fear on their faces you come to abhor more every time you see it.
They seem to be some kind heavy duty variant, with a set of heavy working tools instead of arms and sturdy legs.
At one point, one of the servitors misses a step and wavers for a moment.
Immediately, the human walking behind them is unrolling his whip and strikes at the struggling man-machine. As the arms of the whip hit the back of the servitor, the crackle of high energy becomes clearly audible alongside the mundane sound of a whip-crack, which sounds a lot like a gunshot.
The servitors jerks heavily under the impact and limbs quickly after the other two.
After a couple minutes, you suddenly receive the *click-click-click* over your com-beads.
Your forward scout has encountered a potential problem and is checking it out.
You are advised to stop and (if possible) find cover or hiding.
Yet, there is not much in the way of cover available anywhere.
You passed a few locked doors leading sideways on the way, the last one a couple dozen steps back though.
If you could somehow open one and get in, you may vanish from the main corridor...
*snap-crack*
A sound like a lasgun discharge suddenly breaks the ominous silence of the corridor from up ahead!
MacVyger falls back as quickly and as quietly as he can toward the group, trying to make sure he's not of ear shot. He spots some large ceiling ducting open to the hall and it's up and in it with just a couple smooth motions.
Check-check four contacts. Three heavy utility servitors and a driver with some kind of energy whip. Recommend avoidance. Over.
Anatoly recoils from the servitors as they pass, stepping quickly aside from them. Only the importance of a successful mission keeps his array of weapons from eradicating these abominations from the galaxy. From the way the las weapon integrated into his ballistic mechadendrite begins to glow slightly from deep within its barrel, he stays his hand by only the narrowest of margins.
Anatolys voice returns over the combead, though he does not actually speak, <<Avoidance confirmed. Collapse back upon main body if cover/concealment not available.>>
Even as he responds on the combead, Anatoly turns back to one of the doors they had pass and seems to simply stare intently at it.
I have cover. They will pass me soon. Get safe.
He then falls silent and waits in his ventilation shaft. This was very much like the Orks. He found old habits easily, like holding his breath as the quartet approached to reduce the noise he was making to zero.
Simmins chooses to have his shotgun on the ready in the close corridors.
Kenneth grumbles at Anatoly "don't just stare like a fool." before going to the door himself, looking for an access panel or bright button with "open" on it. And listening if anything on the other side is moving. Well trying to - he is well aware he is not good at that.
MacGyuver's voice crackles over the comms very quietly, They've passed me. I wasn't detected. The servitor driver appears to be counting doors to himself for some reason.
As kenneth moves toward the door, Anatoly steps forward, effectively interposing himself between the priest and the door control. Anatoly's voice is quiet as he explains to Kenneth, "I am not simply staring, as you say. I have been blessed by the Omnissiah with many gifts. Among them are powerful sensors with which I am attempting to scan the room beyond the door to ascertain if it is safe for us to enter. If you will but be patient for a moment longer, your Holiness."
Liam jerks a little at his chameleoline cloak, it too fitting a little more snugly around his neck than he would like.
As the people at the front begins to approach the door, he swings his now assembled heavy bolter that way, ready to lay down some suppressing fire if the area isn't clear.
...
AFTER the tech priest and the regular priest give him a clear line of fire of course.
Kenneth huffs and stops. "Then by all means. Just remember to let your fellow soldiers know next time. The emperor may be omniscient but none other is."
Anatoly ignores the comment and finishes his scan before turning to the rest of the squad, <<There is is at least one human life sign inside this room. We do not have time to make it back to the other door we passed. We will enter here. Weapons ready, but no firearms. The patrol we are avoiding is too close and will hear the discharge of our weapons.>>
Anatoly waits a moment to ensure the rest of the squad is readying melee weapons before turning back to the door. His clampy and clawed mechadendrites come to life, spreading out slightly and flexing their business ends. Once the squad is ready, he extends the multikey and tries to open the door.
Simmins switches to knife and gets ready to move in in the order suggested by the priest or the techpriest.
Damnation! They give me a shiny new gun, I practice like mad, and now I'm reduced to a toothpick!?
With no little resentment, Liam puts the heavy bolter down and draws his own combat knife.
After a short burst of low hummed cant and a wave of the multikey, the door clicks open and swings inward.
It reveals a small side corridor with very low ceiling.
When going in you will have to crouch down a little.
A feeling of crowdedness is near palpable.
As is the stink of unwashed people, urine and wet fur.
A pair of tiny, beady eyes turns around and locks onto you as you hurry inside.
The creature in your way is a horrible human mutant, that undeniably has rat-like features.
A slightly elongated face, long and solid looking hair growing horizontal from its cheeks like whiskers.
Long and sleek arms with claw-like finger, a low and bowed pose and literal fur running down its naked back.
The rat man is also barely over one meter in high, which is enough of an explanation for the low ceiling.
It... He rebounds back from the sight of you entering with an anxious squeak.
Which is nearly immediately answered from further back by several squeaky noises...
Kenneth growls: "Mutant! Silence it, then purge it. Before it calls more of its twisted kind!"
Sir, they ain't seem to be armed. Knife work is going to be loud. Simmins dares to point out. Maybe if the Emperor grants us time after our main objective we can come back and cleanse 'em?
"Purge, bad-bad no! Squeah!"
The ratling screams in a really high, fast and nervous voice.
It backs up a few steps and produces a thing that seems like an ork pistol.
Its not a model anyone ever saw and does not look like common imperial tech.
In this tense situation, everyone's vox crackles.
The transmission is clearly encrypted and distorted by distance, but it is mostly intelligible.
<< Core Two for Core One.
Waiting at checkpoint Charly-One.
What's your status.
We are running late on schedule. >>
I ain't smart sir, but that ain't mechanicum tech! Simmins says with his knife still out but his other hand held up in a universal stop motion.
Anatoly considers the situation for a long moment - long for a Mechanicus adept anyway - before turning his head toward Kenneth. He uses the vox so as to prevent the mutants from hearing his words, <<I calculate a 93.87% chance that our mission will be detected prematurely if we engage in hostilities with these creatures. Delaying the possibility of detection is of utmost importance for the success of our mission. If I can resist the entirely righteous imperative to destroy these heretikal servitors for the sake of the mission, then I ask that you resist the entirely righteous imperative to do the same here.>>
I ain't smart sir, but that ain't mechanicum tech! Simmins says with his knife still out but his other hand held up in a universal stop motion.
Anatoly inclines his head in the direction of Simmins and speaks with his normal voice, "To the contrary, Simmins, this is not only an Imperial pattern, it is one of the oldest. The STC for this firearm can be built by even unskilled workers with the most primitive of resources."
"These are questions that can be answerred later. We need to take cover in this compartment. Everyone inside." Anatoly advances into the chamber, clearing space behind himself for the others.
Emperor burn me but that thing looks like it was made by an ork.
The low-ceiling room is now getting really crowded.
The four of you (except MacGyver of course) scuddle in and close the door behind you at the same moment as two more of the rat people come hurry from further in and stop dead beside their kindred, goggling at you with wide beady eyes.
They appear to be unarmed and also wear barely any cloth worth mentioning.
One is another male, the other a grizzled grey haired female with a monocle clipped to the left eye.
The female voice sounds somewhat less squeaky than the one of the armed rat, but still decidedly weird to your ears.
Her eyes quickly scan the group and stops on Kenneth.
"Oh god Emperor, what are you doing here, priest?"
And she makes the sign of the Aquila over her chest.
Simmins reflexively makes the same sign and then glances at Kenneth.
Kenneth chokes for a moment but regains his composure soon.
"The emperors work, naturally. However answer me this first: What species of abhuman are you? And answer fast, because if you truly worship his majesty as you profess then you know what is to be done with those deviating from the most holy human form, unless ratified by his majesty as human subspecies!"