Editing Hua Yuan Exterminator Writefaggotry (section)

==The Formation of 13th Hua Yuan Penal Regiment==
Before the use of Penal Regiments was adopted in Hua Yuan, and before the Adeptus Arbites could erect their courthouses in the upper levels of the hive and establish a foothold, lawbreakers and malcontents were either executed, exiled, or given to the Guilds. In execution one's fate was sure. In exile one might be able to find asylum with the raiders and mutants that build tiny settlements in the ravaged landscape, or find their way into a wild Tyranid's belly-- assuming, of course, that they survive the harsh Wastes without a Voidsuit. In many ways being given to the guild was a fate worse than death.

Then the Guilds had near limitless power, especially when given direct backing by the nobility. To be given to them was to have your very soul taken from you. Many poor souls were made into pit slaves or even servitors, and sent into the mines or deep parts of the hive to conduct maintenance and keep the occasional Tyranid at bay. The more educated and responsible slaves were made into personal bodyguards or servants in retinues. Those who would not comply were given bomb collars and a very simple choice. Those who failed in their duties even once at any station found themselves in the coliseums.

Salazar Daheim was the Lord who ran these institutions, and he prided himself on his gladiators. Lord Daheim was an eccentric and perhaps even vile man, and every single one of his personal gladiators was a woman. It is unsure to this day whether this choice was a product of some sick fetish or the humour he found in a man being slain by a woman. Either way he kept them in prime physical condition, armed with the finest augmentations he dared give them, supplied them with combat stims of their choosing and quantity-- and equipped every single one of them with a collar that would simultaneously inject them with enough Frenzon that their brains would literally explode.

While his “Iron Orchids” as he called them, or Razorgirls as the fans did, were better equipped than the vast majority of other pit slaves, their living conditions were twice as spartan. Lord Daheim kept his warriors in a constant state of battle, forcing them to fight for twenty hours a day, with only the remaining four hours to eat and sleep, and sleep was often plagued by hypnotic suggestion to maintain their loyalty. He ran a fairly successful coliseum circuit. This would all come to end, however, when he received his greatest warrior, Nara Sumas. 

How she came into the Lord’s ownership is a mystery to all but Salazar himself, a secret he ultimately took to his grave. Her origins are even more mysterious, a point of much of conjecture in Hua Yuan. All that is known is that she was escorted to the offices of the lord in chains by unmarked Servitors, the finely tooled plasma weapon bionic replacing her right arm from the elbow down deactivated. Some say she was from Fenris, explaining her foreign blonde hair and icy blue eyes. Others said she was from Cadia, the only possible explanation for her eerie aim. The scars of battles hard fought and her knowledge of vile xenos technology made some think she is an exiled Gue’Vesa. Others still claimed she hailed from the dense hell of Catachan; how else could a woman be built damn near like an Astartes, seven feet tall and as strong as five men? If one were to ask Nara herself she would simply respond that she was a bounty hunter, nothing more. The sigil of the Inquisition tattooed upon her left arm challenges this assertion, as well as the strange birdlike sigil upon her side. No record of the warrior exists before her service in the pits, and she speaks not of her mysterious past.

As far as Lord Deheim cared she was from the Eye of Terror itself. She fought like an Aspect Warrior and was as crafty as a Lictor and remorseless as the Deathwatch, putting down pit slaves left and right, not stopping for four days before finally taking her meal and rest. She then continued her bloody reign in the ring, using her disabled plasma cannon as an effective bludgeon.
At the end of every of bloody match, she would stand triumphant over the body of what she deemed the most worthy enemy, then cast her steely gaze to the upper stands, where her master and his overfed kind watched with morbid glee. And every time she would draw a thumb across her neck. Once she retreated to the dwelling pits she would be treated to a myriad of lashes and torments for her small rebellions. Not once did she cry out, but instead snarled and howled like a beast, and only after her tormentors left did she speak. She spoke to the ruined Hua Yuanese girls taken from the streets and made into mad killers, more steel than flesh. She spoke out against the slovenly pit that held them in such high esteem, but had them held in a hole that makes the underhive look like a paradise. She spoke simply and succinctly, her words often falling on deaf and weary ears, but day after day they carried more and more weight. The strange beauty with the pale skin, golden hair and ghostly eyes was more than a slave, and would see that her fellow warriors would become the same.

Every second of Nara’s life in those pits was dedicated to murder, but every thought was dedicated to escape. Her plans would have fallen apart were it not for a timid woman wracked by Frenzon induced madness. Nara’s words brought her a measure of solace and clarity. In her brief conversations with the amazon she revealed that she was formerly part of the Mechanicus Cult, sent to the Pits for failure to recite her Psalms of Maintenance whilst repairing an Lord’s servo skull. Her master had owed a debt to Deheim, and gave her to him instead of simply recycling her as a servitor. To Nara’s grim glee she was able to disable the suicide collars about their necks.
It took a year for Nara to convince all the Iron Orchids that dying free was better than living as a slave, and for her Mechanicus prodigy to gather the materials in secret needed to break the collars. It took a day for the coliseums to be awash with blood, and the Razorgirls to win their freedom if for but a moment.

One by one the collars were broken, Frenzon drained and gathered to brew vicious poisons to coat their blades. Not every collar was removed without sparing the life of the Orchid within, and they had lost many a warrior. These bodies were secreted away quickly as to not reveal their intent. The Iron Orchids trained in secret under the unforgiving eye of Nara Sumas to fight like soldiers and not like gladiators. They became proficient in the art of battle, and slowly learned the ins and outs of their home, learning every duct, corner and door in and out of the ring. The Razorgirls’ newfound prowess drew in greater and greater crowds, the esoteric and seedy forum becoming quite popular with those that could afford the rising entry fees. Such was the popularity that the Iron Orchids became a crowd favorite, individual Razorgirls praised in some circles like Living Saints. Lord Deheim, ever the shrewd the businessman, sought to increase his profits even more. After seeing his favoured warriors finally meet their match with a Catachan Devil, he announced a grand tournament in which each Orchid was going to be faced off against a ferocious Xeno beast, then the survivors pitted against one another to determine the true lord of the pit. This played right into the Razorgirls' plans. 

It was the morning of the tournament and the Razorgirls were all ready to meet their fate in the coliseums. The plan was simple-- and most likely to end in failure-- but either way their enslavers would feel their pain and rage. They were ushered into their rings, the teeming masses gathered above the pits to see their favorite fighters. Nara, The She-Wolf as she had been dubbed (named after the terrifying Pit Wolves that hunted men in the sublevels) was held to the end, but she had trained her warriors well. The beasts were unleashed upon groups of Razorgirls, and they went to work. One Orchid would draw the attention of their beast, then draw it either towards the crowd or towards the gate that ushered it in. Their Frenzon-tipped blades would drive the beasts into a deadly frenzy, and the gladiatrices would turn their attentions to the myriad guards, using the crowds and ensuing chaos for cover. The guards attempted to trigger their collars but when they simply split and fell apart they knew the end of the fighting pits had come. The Razorgirls were unbridled.

The Orchids in reserve worked against their bonds, assaulting guards, climbing through ducts, escaping the holding pits in any way possible. There was no assumption everyone would survive. The enraged Devils, Knarlocs, Squiggoths and other beasts were let loose on the crowds, their controlling collars torn off by the Orchids. It did not take long for the Orchids to get their hands on Autoguns from slain spectators, then the Lasguns of the guard. The dwelling pits burst open and they rendezvoused with their armed sisters. Shackles were broken and the Orchids that were little more than beasts were given one last dose of Stimm and let loose upon the fleeing masses, ripping and tearing the civilians before falling victim to the titanic beasts or coordinated efforts by the guards. So feared were they that those who still remained to fight in the coliseum prioritised the gladiatrices over the frothing xenos.

Nara rose from the masses, and took control of the forces. As she did, she looked to the upper stand, where Guild Lord Salazar Deheim stood in frozen horror. Somehow they locked eyes across that great distance, and Salazar saw those furious blue eyes, suddenly very calm. Nara drew her thumb across her neck, a snarling grin across her face.

She returned to her soldiers and commanded in a voice like thunder a furious charge. Following in the wake of the beasts and taking fire from all directions, the Iron Orchids flooded the stands and tore a bloody swath to the upper levels, the killing field of the fighting pits replaced with cramped corridors that turned the tide for the Razorgirls. The cybernetic horde, whittled down to a small army, swept through the halls, slaying anything in their path. The She-Wolf led her cyber-barbarians through the corridors and halls; what little she was able to teach them about marksmanship utilized to great effect, especially amongst those formerly of the PDF and gangs. The riot was brought to a screeching halt when the corridors became sealed, denying them access to the higher levels. Lord Deheim’s spoiling of his warriors would make this exceedingly temporary as adamantine buzzsaws and chainblades worked against bulkheads, Kaihonium flamers melted away at solid steel, and power claws tore away plasteel walls. The Iron Orchids clawed their way through doors, dug their way up floors, and burst through walls. They would not be denied their freedom.

They were half a mile from reaching the underhive, and once they reached those dark reaches they would become invisible. It was there, at the grand entrance to the coliseum, constructed in the typical Imperial style, that Nara bid her soldiers good bye, and commanded that they leave the planet entirely if they could. But the stalwart killers would not be moved. They had come too far with her. This day was beyond their wildest dreams, and they would go no farther without her. If the She-Wolf was moved by their loyalty, or disappointed by their shortsightedness she made no indication. All she said, in a low growl, was that if they were wise they’d leave. She had one final piece of business to attend to. She walked away, leaving her legion at the gates of freedom. And they followed her, back into that into hell that stripped them of flesh and turned them into chrome clad warriors. They followed the only one that gave them hope. Nara the She-Wolf carved a bloody swath towards the coliseum control room, and the balconies in which the nobility and guilders had sealed themselves off, thinking that they would be content with freedom.
They did not know Nara Sumas.

Guard after guard was ripped asunder by bionic claws, turrets destroyed by stolen lasfire, walls torn down by the furious mob. The closer they got to their quarry the more intense the fighting became. The nobles waited in silent terror as death came for them, destroying anything in its path. As the last bulwark fell, the warriors flooded in, shredding anything that dared mount a defense. The remaining masses huddled near the balcony, faced with toppling over the ornate banister to the gore-filled pits below or being consumed by the seething band before them. Nara waded forth, and as a lioness would pluck up a cub she sought out the man that called himself her Master. About Lord Salazar Deheim’s neck hung upon a golden thread a vital piece of her unique plasma weapon. She said not a word, but looked him in his beady eyes as she struck him with her plasma bionic with such force that his head came clean off his shoulders. She tossed the corpulent body into the pits he held so dear, and claimed the device and his head. With the assistance of those formerly of the Mechanicus the terrible weapon was brought back to service. As they turned to flee the room was filled with acrid red smoke and their vision invaded by flashing beams of light. Before they could flee white hot cracks of light and sound sent them to their feet. Nara knew their rebellion was for naught. The Exterminators had come.

They fell upon the rebels like the Angels of Death; Power Mauls, shotguns and Kaihonium Flamers repelled the gladiatrices, cornering them against the balcony. Slaying any that tried to penetrate the wall of crimson smoke. Nara, naturally, did the only sensible thing. She pointed her plasma cannon at the cowering nobles and demanded a ceasefire. Her voice carried over the rancor of the raid, and the phantoms stopped their assault. One by one the neon apparitions appeared out of the smoke, their lasguns trained on the heads of the Razorgirls. The 1st Exterminator regiment had arrived in full force. Squads of Exterminators lined the coliseum, many hanging off the sides of the upper levels by rappelling ropes, some clearing out the pits themselves of the ferocious beasts with eerie efficiency. From behind the formation walked a grizzled man, adorned in Imperial recognitions and tyranid war trophies. The man moved the mirrored spectacles from his eyes to look the amazon in her eyes, amusement playing on his visage. Between puffs of his bizarrely scented cigar the Colonel of the 1st Exterminators gave them an ultimatum. Surrender, or be exterminated. Defiantly the She-Wolf demanded what would happen to the others if she surrendered. Colonel Hong, his admiration of the short work the Iron Orchids had made of the nobles men obvious, paced through the carnage. He told the giantess she had but a single option, merely a matter of circumstance and luck. Should they surrender they will be apprehended, convicted by the Adeptus Arbites, and sentenced to serve in a Penal Regiment and sent to seek their death amongst the stars. Nara considered this. To condemn herself to slavery yet again... and yet to simply be put down so close to victory...

She looked at her sisters and daughters, her soldiers. The deserved a life. They deserved to see the greater Imperium. They deserved to die on their feet, in service to the Emperor, not shot like animals in a cage. She looked in their eyes, and their resolve told her all. They would follow her into the Eye of Terror and back if she asked. She agreed, on two conditions. Bemused, if not a little irritated, Colonel Hong asked her conditions. Firstly, that she be able to lead her soldiers. To this Hong laughed, and admitted that he would be a fool not to, after seeing what she can do in a leadership position with barely trained warriors, but she would fail under the command of a watchful superior and ultimately the commissariat. Her second condition is that she would keep the head of Lord Deheim. Hong, much to the horror of the present nobility agreed. Nara commanded her warriors disarm, and they were claimed by the Exterminators. Before they were dragged into the hive, Hong reminded her that the only reason she still drew breath was because of the decimation of four entire regiments, and that the Planetary Governor approved conscription from all sources until the tithes could be met. Nara said nothing.

So it was that the Iron Orchids left the pits, not in freedom, but in chains. Brought to the upper hive, they were sentenced en masse by the Lord Judge, and given garrison in the lower hive, barely supplied and unsupported. But not a single soldier in the 13th Hua Yuan Penal Regiment complained about their post or even about the explosives about their necks. Even though it was a new form of slavery, it was ten times the life they had been living, and the freedoms granted, limited though they were, were unimaginable to them. To a normal guardsmen they lived in a prison, but to the Razorgirls it was a paradise that Major Nara Sumas had created for them. Their Colonel, Xi Jin’Tao keeps a watchful eye on the murderous traitors, and through the demands of the nobility sees that they are deployed to the deadliest battlefronts possible. Be it clearing a space hulk, or deploying to a void world, the 13th Penal, Razorgirl Regiment, or the Iron Orchids are always sent to the most xenos-infested, inhospitable, and distant theaters possible. The commissariat unyielding, their command unforgiving, and their assignments impossible, the Iron Orchids have established themselves as a premier unit in Hua Yuan, and folk heroes in the lower levels of the hive. Indeed, the 13th has spawned such legends as the Praetorian attached to their unit Lieutenant Rip Leigh and the Vostroyan Razorgirl Zarah Konner the Terminator. 
Every mission Major Sumas’ collection of trophy skulls grows, and the renown of the unit swells. However their numbers, despite their grit and ferocity, dwindle steadily, few units sharing their fatality rates. There will come a time where the 13th Penal is no more, and their sentence will have been carried out. 

But life as a Razorgirl is never easy.