Editing Toyhammer (section)

=Chapter 20=

Thought for the Day: "All threats to the Imperium must be eliminated without reservation." - Marines Malevolent Captain Lucian Niechze.

Aramis shouted something out as he stood between Porthos and a trio of daemons. Something about Slaanesh and Michael.

He was cut off as a daemon slashed a deep gouge across his left shoulder pauldron, which seemed to explode as the Grey Knight triggered an outburst of psychic energies. All around him, abominations were thrown into the air and across the ground as his voice roared his defiance.

Pulling Porthos to his feet, he nodded to Athos as the last of the three Grey Knights joined him.

Looking about him, he saw the twenty or so remaining daemons circle around. The three were surrounded, now, and had only five arms and twenty three functional fingers between them. As for their foes, he counted far too many claws and teeth and smoke-belching nostrils for even a Space Marine's enhanced eyesight and accelerated brain functions to be able to count before they would spring into a murderous rampage.

Aramis grinned as his hands trembled. He was excited.

That was about even odds. No. Not just even odds; this was the very thing they trained for. One against one hundred, and they would emerge victorious. They couldn't just survive. For humanity to be human, survival would not do.

They would win.

One daemon – the largest - charged forward.

Athos reacted in a blur of movement. He stepped forward, pulled up a sword from its resting place in the ground, and turned to face the abomination. He struck. The overhead blow bit deep into its back, but soon the atmosphere filters in his suit logged a spike in hydrogen gases, as well as a nasty chemical cocktail as the blood of the daemon boiled and ate away at the bright metal.

Daemons were starting to be harder to kill.

Not good.

The broken hilt of the sword fell to the soft grass beneath as the daemon asserted the acidic properties of its blood, its oily black skin rippling as unseen muscles flexed. It screeched, high and keening as it bared pearly white teeth.

Aramis plunged a second blade into its chest with a powerful thrust that would have shattered ceramite armor.

The daemon was screaming, a jawed tongue shooting out of its open mouth, biting down into the left lens of his helmet. Half his vision blacked out as the tongue tried to rip away at the eyepiece.

Sword number three cut off the tongue, its blade disintegrating as it sliced through the corrosive blood.

Both watched as the broken halves of the third sword fell to the ground as a fourth – a plain power sword glowing with his focused psychic energies - was snatched up by Porthos and thrust into its throat, cutting off vocal chords and the scream of the foul daemon.

The fifth weapon was a heavy thunder hammer wielded by Aramis, which crushed the writhing abomination under its weight. Bones snapped, organs liquefied and blood sprayed everywhere as daemon met hammer, and hammer discharged the gathered energies inside, sending a shockwave through both daemon and ground.

The Ordo Malleus (and 'Thunder Hammer') lived up to their names.

But with their attention grouped around one daemon, they did not see the second that charged forth until it was too late.

Porthos shouted to his brother, but it was too late.

Athos was bowled over as an oversized monster charged into him, knocking him to the ground.

It snarled, and was peppered by heavy bolter rounds as Aramis brought his man-portable cannon to bear on the monster. Gnashing teeth were punched out by a swing of a one-handed hammer, and the hastily shot psycannon bolt shattered its left leg.

Under the blistering fire of three heavy weapons, the daemon was dispatched quickly, but there were still many more to come.

Grimly, the three brothers adjusted their power armor's parameters and awaited their fate.

A bright halo of light flared behind the gathering daemons, and soon there were strands of crackling lightning as the daemons restlessly shifted about.

As one, they turned to face the newcomer.

There was a muffled curse of surprise.

"Oh shit." An inquiring voice swore over the now-silent monstrosities. "Did I come at the wrong time?"

Somewhere, another daemon snarled. As one, they charged at the newcomer.

The Grey Knights had to dial up the polarization of their eyepieces as another flare lit up the dark field they were standing on, as an abomination was flung high into the air, trailing ethereal flames.

More were tossed aside as easily as Michael had tossed aside the trash on garbage days. They exhibited several traits in common; missing limbs and lightning-charred skin and fur. Most were dead before they hit the ground. The others who actually found themselves hitting the ground had dead daemons piled on top of them before they died.

Ten seconds later, it was all over.

Farseer Zara blasted the final daemon into the sky, to land on another as it fell down to earth. She was flanked by two very nervous Seer councilors. Lightning danced off her fingertips as she looked from one wounded Grey Knight to the next.

Her voice could have made even a Daemon Prince blink, save for the ones who did not have eyes.

"Where. Is. Michael?"

It was dark where I was.

Again.

Goddamit, I was getting tired of this...

I sighed, reached up, and after a little bit of searching I found what I was looking for.

Tugging on the string, the lightbulb far above me clicked, sparked to life, and cast its pale yellow light about the room.

Blinking from the sudden brightness, I looked about. A part of me was surprised.

Hey. It worked.

There was now a soft halo of non-darkness around me. It might attract daemons, but at least I would see them coming.

Closing my eyes, I focused again, casting my senses out into the void and drawing in what information I could muster..

Behind me.

A giggle emanated from the darkness. Soft, effeminate, playful, provocative. Completely and utterly spine-chilling.

"A pleasure to meet you, dear..."

I turned.

The Slaaneshi cultist stood there, a few yards away, completely relaxed as she leaned against an invisible wall. I was reminded of a cat snuggled up in front of a warm fireplace as she gave a throaty purr. My eyes were fixated, my entire body transfixed as she smiled at me.

"Who are you?"

"Who am I? A lot of people have asked me that, when they awoke. I am the Purveyor of Pleasure, the Emissary of Ecstasy, the Lady of Lust."

Another tight giggle as she spread her arms out in a grand gesture.

"I, dear toy, am The Rose of Slaanesh."

What... the... hell.

Haven't you ever heard of a first name?

She, with her tight-fitting garments were wrapped around her was a constant reminder that it was no doubt a she, was slim but well muscled. Pale alabaster skin with a hint of purple covered her supple body. Not unlike that of a dancer, especially by the way her hips swayed to and fro as she made her way across the floor to me.

"You may pick your poison," The Rose of Slaanesh purred. " You may decide your delight. Regardless, I shall drown you with ecstasy tonight, dear toy."

Her tearaway excuse for clothes fell to the floor as she flexed her back.

The scent of roses grew stronger every time she took a dainty step closer, her body smoothly shaking from side to side as she made her way forwards, the loose clothes which barely clung onto her figure pulling taut and then loosening again as she shifted around under the curious fabric. The top of her head came level with my eyebrows as she stopped, her face mere inches from mine.

"And you shall become mine."

My body was frozen in place as she smiled and laughed, her eyes half-closed in cheeky amusement as she looked up at me. Nervously, I noted that she had purple hair – a bright lavender shade – that flowed from the top of her head to lick at her ankles. Her eyes were a similar hue, sparkling like gemstones.

Wait, what was I thinking! ? Dammit... getting distracted. She brushed her lips against my neck, her hand tracing up my arm.

And then I recognized the smell of roses as she breathed onto me. It was intense. Strong. Overdone. Whatever.

Because the important thing was my hay fever, which caused my nostrils to start clogging up. Again.

Just as her face came level with mine.

I sneezed.

If there were ever a guide to how to totally embarrass yourself in front of a woman, this was textbook. I sprayed mucus and spit in a rather flat cone-shape that was mostly occupied by female face. It absolutely covered the walking abomination's nose and eyes in a fine spray of spittle and mucus.

Normally, it would have been utterly humiliating to see that happen to a girl. For me sneezing on the Slaaneshi cultist, it was hilarious.

With my newfound ability to materialize whatever I needed, I snatched a few squares of tissue paper from the air, choking on laughter

The sultry, smiling Slaneeshi succubus stopped, the face twisting into something of confusion and rage, rather than that of abominable beauty, as I blew my nose. Her mouth twisted and turned, struggled to regain their focus. Being sneezed on was apparently something that she did not have happen to her.

I gave her a 'wait there' gesture. "Wait a sec." Another rolled up ball of tissue was tossed away after I blew my nose once more.

Recovering, if only slightly, I frowned at her and waved at the air.

"Hay-fever. Can you turn off the whole 'field of roses' thing?"

She blinked at me.

This was probably completely off-putting for her.

Her voice made a few unsure steps into communicating with me after that humiliating event. "I believe I can... accommodate you..."

The smell of roses disappeared.

"Thanks." I lashed out with a knee, and the Slaaneshi cultist reacted instantly; springing back four or so feet as she avoided my strike.

Just as planned.

A pair of bolt pistols appeared in my hands, identical to the pair that the Grey Knights had so kindly shown me earlier on.

I leveled them at her.

Vincent had once, at length, lectured me on the inefficiency of using two fully automatic weapons at the same time in either hand. You wouldn't hit a thing, he said, unless you had the barrels pressed against them.

Both fingers tightened on their respective triggers.

All my senses had been overwhelmed by the glamour of the Slaaneshi cultist. Now all I could hear were the roar of the bolt-pistols. The muzzle flashes of the guns and flare of each rocket-propelled high explosive pistol shell were all I could see. Recoil from the guns and hot casings bouncing off the inside of my right arm was all I could feel.

Two seconds passed with the extended magazines of the bolt pistols emptying themselves onto the floor. Then they ran dry, clicking uselessly as their firing pins struck thin air.

I shook my head, clearing away the ringing sensation in my ears.

"My my my, dear toy. Are you compensating for something? I certainly hope not."

Well, yeah. Vincent was right.

I felt embarrassed. The Rose had simply laid down and pressed herself to the floor as I had blazed away and had avoided the bolts simply by letting the recoil raise my firing arc. Now she picked up a slender brass casing and toyed with it between her dexterous fingers, her tongue darting out to trace the rim of the bullet casing.

She made a disappointed face, and mockingly cast a pair of puppy eyes in my direction. They rolled across the floor, and I jumped back to avoid the still moist orbs. I felt like being sick. Her giggle brought my attention back to her.

"Such a cute face, and yet... I am disappointed, pet... you know what they say about people who shoot off too soon, right?"

The Rose stood up, laughing as I twisted my head around the words.

I sighed, and opted for an Orkish solution to the problem.

My right hand bolt pistol hit her squarely on the chest, the (at least) ten pound pistol possibly bruising her left collarbone. I switched the left hand pistol to my right, and hurled that after her as she jumped off to avoid it.

She hissed in pain, her eyes flashing as she clutched at her chest and fell to her knees. The Rose gave a small gasp and folded inwards. I stepped forward, but overrode the instinct to go and help her. The girl was certainly playing up the wounded and vulnerable part. Laying it on a bit thick, actually.

"Why? Why must you hurt me, pet?" She sobbed.

Then, as soon as the wounded gazelle act appeared, it disappeared.

And so did she.

Damn!

I sniffled.

The heavy musk of roses was back.

A sudden, heavy blow to my gut threw me through the air, and I landed about eight feet from where the small pile of brass casings had collected about my feet. Gasping for air, something jabbed onto my neck, pushing me into the ground as she leaped up on top of me, pinning me with some effort. She was strong. I struggled against her, and managed to headbutt her chin before her psionic blasts knocked out what air remained in my lungs.

"Oh dear." The Rose was breathing heavily as she produced a pair of manacles. "You must be one of those kinds. Likes it rough, don't you? Yes? No?" She grinned as she bound my left hand. "The Dark Eldar would love you, I'm sure of that."

Her breathing faltered a little as she inched her face closer.

"I think you would like them too. Until they start using those fancy corkscrews of theirs."

She then gave me a teasing smile, her hair brushing against my face.

That was why she never saw my other arm arcing up.

A casual slap turned the blow away from her, towards me. She neatly caught the wrist in the other half of the manacles.

Maybe she saw it after all.

"I am so going to love breaking you." She squealed excitedly, an iron spike materializing in her hand.

Aw, shit.

The Rose stabbed it down, pinning the manacles to the ground as she hummed happily to herself.

Why is it that every single goddamned timethat I meet a good looking girl, they inevitably would try to kill me?

Think.

Think, dammit!

I looked around the ink-black sky, and searched for some way to get out.

A tiny pinprick of light shone, high above us. I hadn't noticed it there, when the light bulb had simply obliterated all chances of me seeing it.

Focus. What the hell was that thing?

A star?

I blinked. A memory. Hers. I focused on it.

If they could attack us while we were in our memories...

What was stopping me from doing the reverse?

A hand tightened around my neck, choking me as I dragged the memory forth.

"Just what do you think you're do-"

"I. AM. KERNIG! SORCERER OF TZEENTCH! YOU CANNOT DEFEAT ME!"

There were explosions. Purple fire and silver lightning was being shot across the landscape, and spears of light were being cast back in return. Raising his hand, Librarian Vasili sent forth a howling wolf, its coat a bright blue color as it shimmered in the battle-torn landscape. Snarling, it shot across the gap between him and his Chaotic counterpart, a lackey of the Sorcerer; he was a Chaos Marine who had allowed a daemon into his mind, and the two had melded into one terrifying abomination. Kernig now roared, and met the attack with a psychic construct of his own; a hound which crashed into wolf, destroying both.

Both exchanged bolter fire, their bolt-pistols burning through imagined shells as magazines were telekinetically ripped out, replaced and then hurled at the other psyker-marine with terrifying speed and efficiency. Their finely honed wills had influenced the rounds, and defined their deadliness.

In the same way, their armor's strength and speed had been augmented as well by their sharp minds. Both were living blurs to a casual observer, occasionally meeting in a clashing of their force weapons and generating huge shock waves from the impacts; already, there were several deep depressions in the land where the battle had compressed the dirt beneath their feet into densities that would have put rock to shame. What trees survived had their leaves ripped off by the buffeting winds.

They were even. Dead even. Both were matched in physical strength, psychic prowess. Even the ancient armor of the Chaos Sorcerer matched the toughness of Vasili's own power armor, which – all considered – was probably equally as ancient anyway.

"So weak, brother!" Cackled the Chaos Marine.

"You," Vasili growled, a dozen spears crackling into existence around him. "are no brother of mine."

"Hah! That is what you think!"

The spears shot forth, but curved away from Kernig, instead zipping around him. He was sitting in the eye of a psychic storm.

"Die, foolish wretch, and may the Emperor have mercy upon you, for I shall not."

In a whirlwind of light, two dozen spears stopped in mid air, all pointed directly at the Sorcerer's apprentice. The Librarian's grim expression showed nothing but razor-sharp focus as he concentrated on his work.

Twenty four weapons hurled themselves forward, all aimed to impale the corrupted Marine's heart. Kernig braced himself, and roared; a cry which shook the very ground as the apprentice lashed out with a psychic shield.

Most of the spears shattered, bright shards falling to the floor as the psychic energies overwhelmed the killing intent of the Librarian.

"Is that all, you little whelp?" Kernig snarled. "Kneel before me, wretch!"

A black vortex opened up behind him, taking away all light as it was forced open. Vasili closed his physical eyes, and searched around with his psyker's senses. He could feel the sorcerer's apprentice grin as more figures – terrifyingly powerful - stepped through.

"You are alone! You have been abandoned by those you called brother."

Things were going from bad to worse, weren't they?

"And you are helpless! You cannot defeat me!"

Ugh. Bad grammar.

Bracing himself, Vasili prepared himself for whatever the daemons would throw at him.

"HAHAHAHAHAH! I wonder, if you now realize what food animals feel like now? Helpless, before something far more mightier than they are?"

There was a keening, bloodthirsty roar that shook the air around him, forcing Vasili to his knees. Suddenly, it pitched up to a cry of pain, and then the light returned. The Librarian and Kernig both whirled around to watch the mouth of the portal.

A smoking remain of a daemon's arm was spat out of the vortex and bounced off Kernig' head.

Then, the music started.

"Woe to you, oh heretic before me, for the Lord sends the

Knight with wrath, because he knows the time is short...

Let him who hath understanding reckon the number of the

Knight for it is a human number; its number is Six hundred and

sixty six."

Zara suddenly appeared from the rift, humming along to the Grey Knights' rendition of 'The Number of the Beast' that was blasting out of their vox-casters as she dragged the rest of the daemon along with one hand, her glowing spear a candle in the oppressive darkness, pushing it back with the light of her soul.

Behind her helmet, she was grinning from ear to ear as she hurled the daemon at Kernig.

"Mon-keigh do appear to have some music worth listening to, you know, primitive as they may be. Even if this Iron Maiden is in fact a man, he is quite entertaining nonetheless. It is like listening to the song of birds, mon-keigh."

Behind her, Grey Knights walked in through the corona of darkness, their towering forms glowing as their armor gleamed in the darkness, throwing rays of light in all directions. One was missing an arm, but didn't appeared to be bothered by it, and all three leveled their storm bolters at the Chaos psyker.

"Torches blazed and sacred chants were praised

As they start to cry hands held to the sky

In the night the fires burning bright

The ritual has begun, Emperor's work is done

666 the number of the Knight

Cleansing is going on tonight."

They opened fire.

The sky was burning. It was as if someone had simply set the atmosphere aflame, a brilliant orange color that reminded me of warm embers.

However, the steady crunch of snow beneath treads and wheels told me that this place was far from Hell.

Around me was a landscape from the far north; it reminded me of when I had gone skiing with my family up in Canada. But... well, it wasn't Canada.

Mainly because this tundra was almost flat, with only a few rises and dips in the distance.

There was a jolt, and the awareness of the memory shot up as the truck underneath me bounced around. Whoever The Rose had been, she was being driven around in a heavy vehicle... a part of a convoy that she was but a single part of, an exodus of nobles and high-class civilians being escorted on either side by a battalion's worth of Guardsmen. I tried to pick out their uniforms, but they were in a wide escort position; they were too far to be seen.

Another jolt rocked the frame of the truck, throwing a few bundles around.

Out of one tumbled a pair of men, who quickly wrapped themselves back up in the heavy cloaks.

Looking again, they weren't bundles. They were people, wrapped up against the elements.

I crouched down, and began moving from one memory-mannequin to another.

The memory-version of the Rose was no doubt one of the two young girls sitting near the front of the flatbed truck. This one in particular was the size of a semi, and occupied by about a dozen people. Judging from their ages and the similarity between them all (not to mention the coat-of-arms on many of their clothes) it was a single family. A noble one, at that.

So is this your past? As a nobleman's daughter?

"So interested in my past? Or simply a younger me?"

The Rose was hissing in my ear, her arms curling around me as she gave out a lighthearted giggle.

"I know I may be a little older than you, boy, but not that much older. Or is it that you like your lovers young and helpless?"

Turning around in her hold was simple, and the Slaaneshi cultist was more than happy to draw herself closer now that we were face-to-face. She purred, pressing herself flat against my chest, looking up at me as she licked her lips.

"Naughty, naughty..." The Rose smiled, her face twisting into a mask of malevolent amusement. "Or perhaps you are a voyeur? I have some very interesting memories for you if you wish to look at them."

Her eyes took on another light as she walked over to a young girl. "Or was it that you were looking for something? Hurt my past self, hurt my present self?"

She crouched down beside the memory of her younger self, bringing it out to face me, her hands on the younger self's shoulders.

"Or perhaps you were looking for another toy to play with?"

The Rose then slit the girl's throat with an almost casual flick of the wrist. Its lifeblood dribbled down the long slender neck and under the collar, before a kick sent the young girl's lifeless body tumbling to the ground, stopping my feet, blood still pouring out of the bloody slit that paralleled the younger Rose's jawline.

Holy shit... did she just? It wasn't her, was it? No, she's still there. It was a memory, just a memory. Like a doll, a damned realistic doll...

"It does not work that way, my dear toy." A kick sent the memory-self off the edge of the flatbed, to be driven under the wheels of the Chimera APC following behind.

"Although perhaps you wished to see trauma? I can show you that."

The Rose licked the memory-mannequin's blood off the curved knife she had used, and then threw it away.

Around us, the darkness gathered. Freaking hell, at least show a few lights or something?

Again, we were thrown into the silent void.

[Combat zone 'Flowerbed']

Autogun rounds hissed overhead as one Guard sergeant crawled across the dirt to his comrade, who was shouting orders to the nearby vox-jockey.

The first gave the second a tap on the shoulder.

"Yeah?"

The camouflaged arm was extended to point out the target. Sergeant number two grabbed a pair of field optics.

"You see that guy there?"

Whirr. Click. Lips were licked, and a tongue chewed.

"The Chaos Marine with the white helmet?"

A rustling as the monocular was passed around.

"Looks kind of grey to me."

The other snorted.

"Grey? No, I'm sure that's a white helmet."

A chuckle in reply.

"Nah, since when have Chaos Marines had anything white? I'm telling you, he's got a grey helmet!"

A sigh, and then a snatching of devices.

"Looks white to me... What about it?"

"Frag him, and everything around him."

Facepalm.

"Well, you could have told me that sooner!"

"Yeah, but you had to start arguing and everything."

"Just shut up and call in the fire mission, willya?"

"Alright... FIRE MISSION, TWO ROUNDS APIECE! TWENTY DEGREES LEFT, CHAOS MARINE WITH THE GREY-"

A tap on the shoulder. "White."

"WHITE/GREY HELMET, RANGE AT TWO HUNDRED THIRTY MET-"

Another tap. "Looks more like two-forty meters to me."

Angrily, the first Sergeant wheeled around to face the second Sergeant.

"We have a kill radius of fifteen meters with these mortar bombs, so do you want to argue about ten meters?"

"Well, wouldn't it be better if the first mortar shell dropped right on that heretical bastard's forehead?"

A moment of pondering.

"Good point. CORRECTION, TWO HUNDRED THIRTY FIVE ME- what is it now?"

"I said two-forty, so why are you calling it two thirty five?"

A shrug.

"I'm averaging it. So both our guesses are taken into account."

"But we'll drop the bombs short!"

A sigh.

"Fifteen meter kill radius, with a forty meter casualty radius. Again, are you going to argue about this?"

"Yes!"

"Well frak you, then. TWO HUNDERD THIRTY FIVE METERS, HIGH EXPLOSIVE SH-"

There was a faint hissing noise, and the sound like a buzzing hive of angry insectoids.

Missiles rained down from above, trailing blue fire as they razed the ground where the Chaos Marine and his rallying minions had once stood. Bodies were hurled into the air, torn apart by shrapnel then set alight by burning missile propellant.

One sergeant mumbled to the other. "What the frak was that?"

"Us, Gue'la."

The Tau Pathfinders seemed to rise out of the ground, waved at the Sergeants, and trotted off as the Sky Ray missile gunship retreated back into the bushes.

Sergeant looked at Sergeant, then at the men who were waiting for the order to fire. A shrug was passed between the two.

"New target. Chaos Marine with the blue banner."

"I dunno, looks like aqua to me."

"..."

"... What?"

[Mindscape]

Darkness was – a-fucking-gain – wrapped around me. Almost like a straitjacket, it immobilized me, choked my senses and annoyed the hell out of me.

"For crying out loud, can't you just do something more interesting than darkness! ?" I shouted into the void.

The Rose chuckled, stepping into my vision as the memory began to materialize about us. "How about me?"

"Fuck you." I flipped her the bird as my mind tried to focus, to bring up a weapon. Power maul, bolt pistol, shotgun, power sword, minigun...

Laughter, rich with amusement chipped at my thoughts. Shoota, choppa, pulse rifle... The Rose was before me, her face returning to an amused look of anticipation.

"Fuck me? What does that mea- ah... I remember now. Interesting 'insult', dear toy. Let us do so. Do you prefer top or bottom?" Through all that, she kept a completely straight face.

Flamethrow-... uh...

What remained of my concentration broke as my vivid imagination went wild with... well, you can imagine it, right? Images of her and I... well, I quickly blazed through my memories of a resident bitch in my brain, and the cold shock of her thunder-based mind-bullets brought me back. But that took a while. Long enough that the Rose had managed to press herself against me and kiss me on the lips.

The touch was like fire, and it spread through my body. Desire burns, and this had a lot of fuel helping it consume me. Things felt like I had been set alight (and trust me, with the minis you learned what burns felt like really quick), and struggle as I might, her grip was too strong for me to get out of.

I couldn't struggle. For some reason, some annoying, probably psyker-based reason, I wasn't able to move...

It seemed like the stupidest thing I could do at the moment.

"Why so serious?" She laughed. "Is this your first time?"

As her tongue snaked in between my lips, I realized that I could rectify that stupidity quite easily: I bit down.

The Rose's eyes widened suddenly as I tasted blood. She yelped, and jumped back.

I turned as her voice came from behind me, a rising screa- shit. That was her memory.

"So you do like my younger self, then?" She asked me, from right beside my face.

Now it was my turn to shout in surprise, tumbling backwards as her unharmed tongue licked her bloodied lips.

The memory continued on. In the air, the sharp smell of gunpowder wafted through the hallways as the screaming continued.

It wasn't like we couldn't see much through the haze of adrenaline and pain, but I what was visible wasn't pretty. The memory had resolved itself into a large room. The lack of windows and the exit being a staircase leading up made me think of a basement. In the center of the room was a circle of guardsmen, already ragged in appearance, wasn't helped by the fact that they were bearing the various marks of Chaos. The majority of their clothes and weapons were scattered about; all had traces of Imperial regalia on them, but most had been scratched off.

Someone screamed from the middle of the circle.

From above the crowd of heads, an arm with a knife gripped tightly in its fingers was drawn back and then brought down in a savage stab.

More screams.

That was it.

I turned away, closed my eyes and did my best to shut away the sounds. I did not want to find out what was happening to the Rose's younger self. Just the feel in the air was already disgusting.

"You don't want to look, boy?" She asked, speaking perfectly fine for someone that had just had their tongue bitten. "Oh, don't worry about my tongue. Wouldn't be the worst thing that's happened to it. Too many daemons just don't understand that 'pleasure' and 'eating' doesn't always mean the same thing."

Someone was kicking, screaming as she was separated from her family, dragged by her hair across the rough stone ground. Dispassionately, the Rose continued to watch as an older woman, maybe in her late thirties, broke free from the captors, begging for the cultists around her to stop. She was simply dragged back into the decadent mass of pleasure-seekers as the younger of the two victims was pulled up onto the remains of an altar and her violation continued.

The Rose sighed, a part of her composed self cracking as I saw the angry red lines that crisscrossed her memory-self's bare back. "That was me, you know? The one at the altar. Numb fools decided it would be fun to flog me before they got on with anything vaguely pleasurable. Prince Slaanesh is great, but his cultists can be... lacking."

A short, barking laugh as she turned back to face me. "You know that I used to believe in Him? The Emperor protects, the say. Well, my dear toy, let me tell you this: he doesn't. Neither I, nor the millions of others during the rape of Petrosberg VI."

She shrugged, and took a step closer to me. "Then again, I had abandoned him a long while before that."

Yet again, she inched closer.

"Want me to show you? I was there when it started, you know."

I balked at her, unsure of what to do. Really, do you think that in the twenty years that I've been alive, I learned how to deal with a half-crazed and psychotic but very attractive cultist to a god(ess) of depravity and excess?

As usual, I improvised.

"No thanks. Not interested."

I called forth a weapon. It was much simpler now that I had seen one lying on the ground, in the stack of weapons that the former Guardsmen had discarded.

The decadent crowd numbered about two dozen, plus the trio of victims, and now I had one bolter with high explosive rounds loaded onto the twenty-shot magazine.

One large caliber smooth-bore barrel swung around to point at the circle of Slaaneshi cultists, and I never let go of the trigger as round after round was sent into the mass of flesh. It was hard to miss at this range, and since they weren't – unlike the daemons – actively trying to kill me, it was a much simpler task to keep my hands steady.

Ten seconds later, the Rose pulled her fingers out of her ear. Chunks of the mannequins were still raining down – unsticking themselves from the ceiling - as I pointed the recently reloaded bolter at her.

"Oh dear. That was quite the pleasure show, the last time I visited this memory. You disappoint me, dear toy."

One shot hissed over her shoulder and close enough to her head to disturb the immaculate tresses. Well, formerly immaculate. Now they were approaching the realm of 'tangled mess' thanks to the fact that the bolt rounds were propelled by rocket motors.

"You know what? I hate people just toying around with me. Stuff you, stuff your teasing. So would you kindly die! ?"

She shook her head. "But, my dear toy, I have already died."

The world blurred. My body froze.

Raising her hand, the Rose held it outstretched, palm down as she smiled menacingly.

As if pressing down on something, she began to lower the hand.

"My father was quite the craven fool before Slaanesh. He played with me like I was some kind of lower-class whore and not his daughter. Simply because he could. Specifically because it was wrong. Of course, I sought out a solution. None came up. I was a hollow, bitter shell of a girl by the time I saw my eighteenth birthday."

My knees collapsed, and I choked out in surprise. It was as if something massive had been dropped onto my shoulders, and was now pressing me down. Struggle and fight as I did, I couldn't do anything. I knew that it had something to do with the sorcery of the Rose, and couldn't resist it.

"Until I saw them. The Red Guard – what you would call a PDF – fought down a rebellion. My tutors fed me dataslate after dataslate full of reports about the 'enemy'. They only saw a cult that had the gall to stand when they should have been licking the heels of the boots."

The bolter fell to the ground, and I collapsed onto my hands. Unrelenting pressure forced me to the ground, pressing on my back.

"I saw what I should have been. A force strong enough to stand and challenge my father – challenged their oppressor – and despite being battered and persecuted, the cult was still strong."

I began to choke, the air squeezed out of my lungs. The mindscape around me began to shift and contort, the lights and sounds looking more and more like an LSD trip as related to me by a man I had met on a train.

Dammit.

"So then, I found myself becoming a cultist."

Vision tunneled, color faded from the bright tapestries around me. I could only see Batel's... no, The Rose's smiling face. Gritting my teeth, I searched through my options.

Think... move! Escape... somehow.

"And I called them, in the heart of my father's power, I brought forth a daemon."

I coughed, one last time. "Gee, that must have turned out well."

A bitter laugh was my answer. "No, it did not."

It was a familiar scene, to me. After all, the product of that particular ceremony had just stabbed me in the shoulder earlier on this morning...

"Good. You have done well for one so unskilled. But do not worry. I can teach you far more than that... when you have come to my side, girl."

The Rose's younger self was kneeling in the middle of the floor, nodding mutely to the dismembered voice that spoke directly to her mind. Her hand went over the finely polished wood, which had been decorated with detailed etchings; flowing lines that carved a beautiful pattern into the floor. Over that, it seemed, a thick layer of varnish kept the carved floor from becoming tainted and scratched by the constant passage of the room's occupants.

Now it had been gouged out by the girl, how she had done it was far beyond me.

She sat now, in the middle of a wheel of chaos, surrounded by dataslates, candles, ritual focuses and other such materials that littered most of the floor. The girl had clearly done her research on the matters of warpcraft and sorcery. Her knuckles were bone-white around the knife that she held in her hand.

It was a simplistic affair; a straight single-edged steel blade set into what looked to be a simple rectangle of rubber that acted as a grip.

The girl began to pray to her Gods, and slowly scratched runes onto the side of the mirror-like blade.

I peered closer as a drop of liquid fell into the grooves created by her improvised carving.

She was crying.

Oh, it wasn't the Hollywood crying, with sobs and screams of anguish. It was a far more subtle despair than that. The girl before me was crying quietly, almost silently as her face twisted in her inner agony. She stopped her work, and threw the knife away; it skittered to a halt at the edge of the circle. She gave out a small sob as tears streaked down the young Rose's cheek, and fell into the floor.

The Lords of Chaos wish for your blood, not your tears, mortal.

Cold and sudden, the voice that spoke directly to the soul was quiet, but no less sinister because of it.

Through the haze of her tears, the Rose's younger self looked up at the shadowy figure of her personal daemon. A man dressed in dark leathers stepped forward, with long, pale blonde hair slicked back away from his dark brown skin.

Bright red eyes stared her down.

"Now bleed, girl, and be embraced by those you call 'Lord'."

"Y-yes..."

The blade was retrieved, grasped in trembling fingers, and then sliced through some very important arteries in the arms of the younger self.

Blood, bright red, fell to the floor.

An entire world screamed as two planes of existence were brought crashing together at this one minute point.

Two seconds later, the young girl's mind worked through her shock, and began screaming as the Wheel of Chaos burned, although oddly enough none of the flames that touched her burned the pale skin of the governor's daughter.

"And so," The Rose narrated. "it begins."

Space and light was bent and torn, and a daemon stepped from the wound in reality.

It screamed; a horrible sound that shook the room and no doubt the building as well.

The daemon looked down, and extended one of its arms. Thumb and forefinger trapped the girl's chin, and the blood red eyes of the daemon looked into the light purple irises of the girl.

Every detail came into focus; the piercing crimson irises, the six earrings on each ears, the almost androgynous features that only just tipped towards a man via jawline, the short, spiky purple hair. The tattoos, vaguely tribal in design, which started at the back of his ears and traveled down the sides of his neck. The fanged maw that suddenly split into a grin, showing many knife-like teeth.

"You'll do."

The Rose's memory screamed.

A soft fingertip touched my shoulder, and traced a line going from shoulder to the tip of my chin.

"And that, dear toy, was how my world burned. Of course, though Slaanesh was grateful for my... assistance, his followers were not. They looted the palace, of course. Rare and precious materials, fine silks... young servants, orphaned princesses and myself... all of it went to the Prince of Pleasure's most devout and depraved leaders. I became another dear toy in the Lord Ninelov's collection after he found me in the desecrated chapel of the False Emperor."

Turning to her, I deadpanned. "I sense a long story coming along here..."

The Rose chuckled, and nodded.

"I hate long stories."

There was laughter; rich and joyous and unafraid to show it. I could quite literally feel my heart skip a beat at that. Then she smiled. Her smile was... well, radiant. The corners of her mouth shot up, and her eyes half-closed as she giggled.

Don't even think about it.

She was... happy. Unashamed, unrestrained joy was practically glowing around her. That made it hard. Really, really hard.

But still, I punched through the temptation to stop. Just as I punched through her smile and broke her nose. Well, at least I hope it was her nose. Would be a shame if it wasn't.

Never hit a lady.

It had been one of the core rules of my upbringing, and I had broken it... well, several times. But then again, this lady would have sucked my soul out... among other things. I don't think that was a very lady-like action, actually.

Then again, I didn't quite pay much attention to that rule when someone was trying to kill me.

My mind again going hyperactive from the adrenaline, I was able to clearly outline a power maul. Grinning, I brought it up for a sudden blast of force tore the weapon out of my hands, hurling it off into the distance.

Damn.

A metal rod appeared in my hand next, the Rose smiling as she called up a field of roses, their thorny stems shooting up out of the ground around us as she waved her arms about. No doubt, she was controlling them with each movement of a finger, each flick of a wrist.

I bent backwards in a very tricky maneuver as a thorny stem was hurled at me. Overbalancing, I collapsed to the ground.

In the distance, I could hear the Rose as she giggled, and licked her lips. "A little exercise, then? How thoughtful, we wouldn't want to pull any muscles, do we?"

The roses bloomed, and the Slaaneshi sorceress breathed in their heady scent. I just rubbed my nose off on my sleeve. "Scatter!"

I lashed out with the steel pipe, only for the bright red petals to suddenly harden and stop my strike. Then they shifted, the thin petals acting like blades.

Chunks of steel pipes fell to the ground.

Well, shit.

A torrent of rose petals slammed into me, densely packed into a solid mass, and hurled me through the air.

I landed more-or-less on my feet, leaving my legs numb from the sudden shock of landing.

More rose petals hung in the air around me.

"Shift!"

The wind picked up, and a dozen razor-sharp petals cut past me. It was like being in stinging hail, where each passing strike left a small cut. My whole body was exposed to it, and it felt like every single wound burned.

Wait a minute...

I thought quickly. Something simple. A barrier.

Kneeling, I curled up slightly to present a smaller profile to hit, and touched the ground beneath me.

Call it up...

The solid block of stone sprang up, a simple wall made of stone bricks. Going through a list of weapons, I picked one at random and began to call it up.

"Impressive!" The Rose laughed. "Oh, I do love boys who are creative. Let's see what else you ca-

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All other concerns ceased as I hurled the empty and all too loud copy of Madork Gunna's Shoota at the ground.

Son of a...

My ears were ringing, and it felt as if my legs had been turned to jelly. I fell to my knees, and began weakly crawling away from where the four-barreled machinegun/shotgun/firearm/thing... well, exploded.

Of course, I hadn't hit anything. The Rose was also on her knees, smacking the side of her head as her other hand dug into her ear canal.

She was saying something. I couldn't quite make it out. Throwing a 'what the hell?' gesture at her, I picked myself up and staggered over to her.

The Rose sighed, reached behind her, pulled out a flat rectangle. She began writing.

[THAT WAS TOO LOUD, DEAR TOY]

I grinned as I brought up a spotlight. Vincent and I had worked a small gig as a friend's spotlight monkeys when he had to organize a school prom, so I knew what these hundred-thousand candela stage lights looked like.

The urge to laugh out loud as her eyes widened in curiosity at the new device in my hands was priceless.

All color was obliterated as I lit up the dark room into something like an overexposed photograph. You know, it's never a good idea to look directly into stage lights when they first turn on; the lack of heat in their wires means that they don't have the usual resistance in the circuit, therefore they're just slightly brighter than usual.

Mind you, that didn't quite matter as much as the Rose was dazzled either way. Deer in headlights kind of thing.

Time to change the field.

While she was blinking the spots out of her eyes, I searched around for an exit. The first question that came to me was; how? How was it that I managed to get here? If I could get here, I could also get out.

The Rose staggered back onto her feet, laughter in her eyes.

She moaned, an amused turn in her voice. "That was... new. Let's do it again sometime, 'kay?"

There. My finger pressed through the fabric of space and time.

"Awwwe, are you playing hard to get, boy?"

I could see it. My arm blurred as it ripped a hole in the local reality, and I pulled myself up and hurled myself through into the next dream.

I tumbled out in a new memory. Not the Rose's, but someone else's.

Where? A hallway. A palace hallway. Buttresses, tapestries all around us. Gothic. Imperial. Someone else was playing out their memories.

Oh shit.

The tapestries. The same heraldry as The Rose's. A black, double headed bird – an eagle? No, it was an Aquila - with an orb clutched in one hand, a scepter in the other, and three crowns; one atop each of the Aquila head.

I was still in the same place?

Damn.

Not good.

Standing up... not quite. I felt heavy. Burdened. I fell back onto my knees, and indulged in taking a breather that I knew that I could not afford. Struggling, I pulled myself up onto my feet. Leaned against the wall. In the shadows.

"Raquel, enough of memory lane." Danilov muttered, leveling his storm bolter at the approaching horde of daemons. The mannequins of a family – two sisters, an older brother and what looked to be the trio's mother – rushed past them. Raquel was looking at the smallest of the four. Her face was an expression of newly resurfaced despair.

My breathing stopped. A memory? The real thing? Daemons?

"They're constructs, m'lord." The quavering voice of the Penitent witch answered, then waved them away with a gesture. The pack of slavering beasts faded out of the memory as Raquel asserted her dominion over the mindscape.

They became dust, and disappeared.

Except for a pair.

Who snarled, then charged forward.

F-

Danilov fired faster than thought had time to form. I flinched from the sudden noise.

Raquel reacted a racing heartbeat later. "Those aren't constructs!"

"Really." The grizzled Inquisitor sighed. "I didn't notice. Left hand side, Raquel. Don't miss."

Both Inquisitorial psykers raised their respective bolt weapons, and fired off a pair of shots each. Danilov only squeezed the trigger to his double-barreled bolt-gun once, while the younger of the two fired twice.

Two rounds struck the left hand daemon low in the chest, gutting it. As the abomination fell, two more rounds penetrated its shoulder and throat, ending the physical manifestation of the Warp's malevolent predators.

The second followed soon after, as the two psykers raised their right hands and sent a double-blast of concussive force down the narrow hallway. Ten meters away, the first knocked the daemon down with the same force as a runaway train, while the second sent it flying back.

Both hands stretched out, palms down, and they let their hands fall.

A crater appeared around the daemon, who appeared to be pressed into the ground. Cracks were forming in the ground as an invisible pressure pinned the monstrosity.

From the shadows of her robes, the former witch brought out a flamethrower.

"Burn."

The screams of the family behind them told me that the memory had gone astray. The daemons had caught up with them.

Raquel shuddered, and Danilov stepped forward, placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and pulled her back to her feet.

"Hey, guys? It's Michael?"

Both whirled around, weapons at the ready.

I held out both my hands, and edged around the corner.

"The titan?" Danilov asked sharply. "Hard to believe that you're actually shorter than I am."

"Yeah, yeah, heard that one from the Grey Knights before."

A frown. "How can we be sure?"

Understanding, my mind began to race. How to prove that I was me? Think... ash... I reached behind me, and pulled out a fire extinguisher. Then set it on the ground.

"My hammer."

Danilov nodded ever so slightly. "Raquel."

The penitent witch eyed me, her eyes... so familiar, yet also alien. Intense, they peered into my soul.

Finally, her psychic interrogation finished.

"Nothing says he isn't, M'lord Inquisitor."

Finally, the Inquisitor relaxed a notch or two. "Good enough, I suppose. Well, what's the matter, then?"

We both exchanged notes.

From what they told me, Danilov and Raquel had managed to find each other at the common memory of each other. This was a 'rubric', as such warpcraft and spells were called, and had been designed to trap us in our memories, torturing us with past traumas until daemons or sorcerers could come and claim us.

Of course, nothing ever really worked as planned when you tried to use the Warp in such ways.

"Alright... now what?"

Danilov brought about another weapon – a new storm bolter – and passed it to me.

"You said that there was a cultist after you, correct?"

"Slaaneshi, yes."

"Then we shall wait for it. Ambush, then kill it."

"Alright... you got a plan?"

She arrived before we even went through a plan.

Through a wound in reality, The Rose stepped through.

The three of us turned in surprise.

That quickly?

Turning to face us, her face suddenly lit up in a psychotically happy grin.

"Oh my my my... it certainly has been a long time since we had last met, little Ana!"

The penitent witch lost it. Completely. She screamed in panic, fear, something primal that repulsed her from the Slaaneshi cultist.

Danilov didn't bother with bolter shells. He instantly brought another brute-push attack to bear, but the Rose did not seem bothered by it. Raging, he joined me in pumping as many storm bolter shells into her as possible.

"YOU! Traitorous scum! You shall burn at my hands, again!"

A history? I noted it in the back of my mind, and continued on shooting with the double-barreled assault weapon.

The Rose seemed puzzled for a moment as her trademark rose petals deflected, cut and sliced bolter shells apart before they could touch her. Her brow furrowed in thought.

"Who are you? Oh, I see! So you had her after all!" She brightened up, and laughed. "Oh, so that's what happened!" Her voice echoed through the halls. She was in hysterics now, but still dodging the blasts of force and fire that Danilov was sending towards her as well as our bolter shells.

Raquel was on her knees now, screaming incoherently.

A return blast of force knocked us all to the ground."It all seems rather... well, underhanded of you, considering you were supposed to kill her an' everything..." She purred. "But it seems you have taken her as your own little pet psyker, correct? My my my, what a devious little inquisitor you have been."

Danilov snarled. "Liar!"

"Oh? So you haven't tasted my dear sister yet? Such a pity. The fruit of a woman should be tasted when they are young and ripe, dear Inquisitor, lest she spoils and becomes rotten. Of course, as before, Slaanesh's offer still stands; you can pleasure yourself with her and many other women – or men, if you bat for that team – if only you surrender your secrets to us."

"Shut. Up."

I knelt down, and then flipped a rocket down the hallway. It was a straight-up and simple 'RPG-7' that corkscrewed down the narrow corridor, filling it with choking smoke, and Danilov was – again – the first to act. My collar and Raquel's hood both acted as hand-holds as he dragged us up to our feet and pulled us along, wrenching us down the hallway.

"Move! Frakkit, MOVE ALREADY! DO YOU WANT TO LIVE FOREVER! ?"

And so, we fled.

"Did we lose her?"

"She'll find us again. So we have to prepare for that. Right, now we call in everyone else."

"Huh?"

"With you around, we've accounted for everyone important."

He snapped his fingers, and I felt a tug in my throat, drawing me towards him.

"There."

"He~ey, you're leaving me behind!"

"Shit, her again. RUN!"

After about ten seconds of desperate dragging, Danilov had managed to get Raquel and myself back up into something of a run, and as the three of us tumbled through the memory, the Inquisitor cast uncharacteristically worried glances at the penitent witch.

We reached another set of huge doors, and swung them shut. Out of breath, I wheezed as quietly as I could as Raquel leaned against a wall, slowly sliding down as she ran trembling fingers across her chalk-white skin.

Danilov walked over, and knelt down beside her.

I arched an eyebrow, and checked that the door was still firmly shut. "What's wrong?"

The Inquisitor turned to me, his face a cold mask of unyielding indifference.

"It is not for you t- yes?"

Releasing her hold on his sleeve, Raquel shook her head, and pulled herself up.

"That c-cultist... she was my sister."

"... can you explain?"

"The short version is, Michael, that Raquel and that heretic over there were both daughters of the planetary governor in Petrosberg VI. He was... abusive. Overstepped his boundaries far too many times and got away with it, too. Not just with them, but with the whole population. Of course, you can see what would happen..."

As if a hologram, the space between Danilov's hands became a scene that was far too familiar from my exposure to the mass media; protestors. Workers, mainly. They were shaking signs and shouting slogans. It was a familiar scene, with a familiar ending as a fuel-filled bottle burst open on the shield of the police – the 'Adeptus Arbites'. Except, unlike the news, the Arbites that retaliated didn't use bolt guns.

"Disillusioned, they turned away from the Emperor – the 'authority' behind this oppressive bastard – and to Chaos. Even the Governor's daughter had turned to the worship of the Dark Gods. I was but an apprentice to Inquisitor Andreivich Nonimaus when he arrived here. He ordered the local Guardmen – the Red Guard – to purge the population of any Chaos taint."

Street fighting. Urban battles and, when the fighting went out into the countryside, trench warfare. There weren't many memories of that, so the flickering of the images showed me that this was probably what he remembered from dataslates and the like.

"It was a horrific four-year campaign to end the Chaos dissenters. When enough was enough, the Inquisitor, in all his wisdom, had the Marines Malevolent – in a rare case of our two organizations working together - that had arrived with him to destroy the Red Guard and the entire capital Hive, as he believed them tainted. He was right, in a sense. The Red Guard had long ago turned to Chaos and now rose up against the fifty Marine crusade force we had on-planet."

They were slaughtered, from the brutal surprise attacks, sabotage campaign and sheer weight of unrelenting numbers.

"He thought all else was a lost cause, and ordered the entire planet wiped out. I didn't think so."

Raquel came forward now.

"He saved me, Michael. Before we burned Petrosberg, he smuggled me out from that damned place, along with three others – children of Palace staff members that had been locked in the panic room with me. Starved and endangered himself by feeding us his rations on the journey home, and then had me inducted as a penitent witch when my psyker talents grew too strong to mask with his own. The others were placed into the Schola Progenium on Perlia, almost on the other side of the galaxy."

"I honestly didn't know what drove me to do that." The Inquisitor shrugged. "Of course, we got away with it – which is why you won't breathe a word of it to anyone, y'hear?"

These two had just placed their lives in my hands. Or, at the very least, trusted me with this. I nervously swallowed.

"Yes sir. Never will, sir."

For the first time, Danilov smiled.

"Ooooh, so that's what happened to you, Anastashia! Your name is Raquel now, isn't it? 'Ewe'... so very fitting, you follow your dear Inquisitor so very faithfully."

Danilov foze, and Raquel began to tremble again. I turned to see The Rose.

"I'm sorry, was I interrupting something? A little group hug? Can I join in, or is it invitation only?"

Psych.

The three of us turned, our weapons already loaded and ready.

Danilov grimly sighted in. "Nobody miss."

The Rose shrieked.

Everything went... white.

For once, it was a change. A nice one, in fact.

Especially since The Sorcerer (Belavich the Shadow-caller, wasn't it?) had flown through, his tabard on fire, and crashed into a heap beside The Rose. Other humans – I assumed they were other Chaos psykers – piled through on portals of their making.

Closely following them, however, was a sizable group of psykers. Imperial, Eldar and, interestingly enough, a pair of Ork wierdboyz. Zara, the three Grey Knights and Ishabeth were at the lead. There were maybe a dozen Eldar psykers, as well as a pair of surviving Imperial psykers.

All were armed with enough weapons to start – and win – a small war.

Everything stopped as the Slaaneshi cultist stood up and waved at me.

"Oooh, so you brought all your friends, dear toy?" The Rose asked excitedly.

"Dear?" Zara echoed. "Mon-keigh, just who have you been seducing recently?"

The Rose waved her hand at Zara, a rather giddy smile on her face. "Oh, I quite enjoyed it. You won't believe what that young man can do, old hag. He's quite... flexible in his talents, you know."

I could feel blood start coloring my cheeks. "Hey! N- I was shooting at you!"

"Good thing you didn't fill me up, then, otherwise we'd be in quite the trouble!"

The Farseer's Singing Spear was glowing quite a murderous red.

"Zara! Don't think of it that way! She tried to jump on me!"

"You could have said you liked being on top." The Rose giggled.

Zara turned to face me. I could feel the rage in her eyes. "Mon. Keigh. Do not tell me that you gave into this Slaaneshi whore's temptations!"

"I didn't give in to the Slaaneshi whore's temptations!"

"Quite true. You were quite... forward about your intentions."

I facepalmed.

"Look, I'll show you what I've been trying to do to her, how about that?"

"Oh, you can't possibly do that while I'm still dressed, dear t-"

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Ow. Ow ow owowowowowow.

Two sets of Orkish eyes looked at me, utterly in awe.

"Bloody 'ell, Boss. Madork Gunna's not gonna loik it when 'e foin's out yooz stol' his WAAAAGH!-Gun..."

"WHAAAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU! WHAT IS IT THAT YOU ARE TRYING TO SAY?"