Hua Yuan Exterminator Writefaggotry

Writefaggotry inspired by the /tg/-created Regiment, the Hua Yuan Exterminators. Many of these stories where written before much of the current fluff was written. Defer to the actual wikipages when there is a conflict, however as with any Warhammer lore, you are free to take what you want from the setting. Canonicity is a point of view.

Made in the Image of the First

Journal of Recruit Pvt. Trang, 132rd Exterminators (confiscated and destroyed)

Foreign hives are a special hell, but they are our hell. We like killing wannabe gangers in our backyards, that's easy, no need to try. Just bust down the door and let loose, if some escape, we cut them off a corridor down and finish the job. Try ambushing a xenos hive mind in unfamiliar terrain. Damn near impossible. Just avoiding ambushes is hard enough, getting shots off is almost a luxury before you're swarmed with bugs. So we need an edge, “Guant Stalkers”. The medics are making some seriously sketchy drug with stuff they brought from home and fucking 'Nid bits. They gave it to some quiet veterans in each squad who seemed familiar with it, those poor bastards with that dead stare in their eyes. Those guys left for a bit, and came back to their squads in a blood haze.

When Corporal Zhang returned the squad, the Red Pole sergeant put him in point. Within seconds, he broke into a sprint we didn't think was possible, with a bizarre, wordless determination. Everyone was bewildered, but he sprinted ahead, just calling out locations of things he shouldn't know. “Six little gun bugs and a Psyker bug below us, approaching.” We snapped back, secured breaching charges to the ground and waited. Zhang called, “40 meters... 25... 10... now.”

As our Red Pole blew the charges we threw in Blinkers. Zhang hit the ground the same time they did, his silence broken by deranged screams, armed with a fucking monoknife in one hand and a lascarbine in the other. We staggered for just a moment, switched on our filters and jumped after Zhang, the dust of the Blinkers filling the hallway. We poured las fire in the direction of the 'thrope, while Zhang was chopping and screaming in a crowd of termagants in the periphery. At least, that's what anyone could put together in the middle of a fire-fight full of lights and color. The 'gant bits flying everywhere was our major clue. After it taking a more shots than from a lasgun than anything should, the 'thrope quickly regained its bearings and threw witch fyre at us. Two good squadmates went down, blood splattered on the inside of their visor and leaking from their ear-slits, injuring most of the rest of us. We reopened fire as soon as the Emperor would let us, finally boiling that big bastard inside out with lasfire. We turned around to support Zhang, but found him covered from head to toe in blood 'n guts, grappling two on a pile of dead bugs. We wasted them while they were still disoriented by our entry enough to be pinned down. As the dust settled we saw Zhang, minus several of his fingers and pint of blood, holding a ripped off xeno's arm, and slamming it into his foe's head, with his knife was stuck in the xeno's gut.

Sarge shouted to him, “anymore bugs nearby?”, despite only being a few feet away. Zhang snapped his gaze up from the xeno corpse pile, making the greener of us jump a little, and looking back with glazed over eyes. He murmured, to no one in particular, “nothing left on this level. The bugs are pulling back to the under hive. We go there next.” Our medic hastily hit him with a sedative, and brought him back to our checkpoint fire base on a stretcher.

As we made our way to firebase, our Red Pole looked at me and joked, “A rookie survived, looks like our Leftenant will have some explaining to do,” the rest of the men started to laugh, until we remembered Zhang.

Sure enough, as soon as the rest of the platoon was back from 'Nid hunting, everyone with a rank less fancy than one a commanding officer might have was called to a “special training session” with the Platoon Red Pole and our Leftenant.

We were lead into a real barebones room,  a re-purposed conference hall from the hive hotel we were using as a firebase. As soon as the last of us trickled in, the Platoon Red Pole locked the door behind us. The Leftenant stood in the front, surrounded by tired and sweaty guardsmen on all sides. “At ease, men. Congratulation on your promotions gentleman, you ten are now lance corporals and receive rights and traditions as Exterminators. Taking a few 'Nid skulls is no longer a punishable offense for you boys.” We shivered with a nervous pride. Most of us joined up from whatever shit-hole corner of The Garden we came from just to hear those words. “Any fool can blast a ganger coughing smoke” we all heard a thousand times back in basics, "hell, they do that themselves. The only guardmens worth a damn are the ones who can take home more of themselves than 'nid trophies they nab." We poor bastards, knowing more would die during this campaign than make it home, were swelling with an invincible pride. Hell, some of the boys even shed a tear.

“But,” continued the Leftenant, “Those rights come with hefty responsibilities, you will now be privy to the secrets of the Exterminators, and how it is some of the regiment manage to survive the fight with Tyranids. By being here you agree to keep these shameful secrets.” We would've agreed to arm wrestle with Orkz, we were so drunk off pride. “It's no secret to those inducted that the use of stimm synthesized from termagant nervous tissues circles around the garrison. The mere knowledge of it's existence is near enough to get everyone in the regiment executed for high heresy. The common practice is to mix diluted powdered 'guant brain with another compound found our home hive made from some mushrooms you men might be acquainted with. As it would have, this fungi has patterns that closely resemble that of a Tyranid strand of DNA. If ingested the user can see 'Nids through walls but all color drains his vision and he develops an overwhelming desire to kill. It takes a disciplined user to communicate to his team while under its effects, and the side effects are immense and debilitating, more than likely crippling for life. When this substance is offered to you by a fellow guardsmen, weigh the risks long and hard before you accept his offer.”

“You won't be operating in combat unless you have the experience necessary to keep your composure. The risk for friendly fire and jeopardized missions is far too high to allow fresh recruits on the battlefield under their influence. Any of you here today found ingesting this substance will be imprisoned, stripped of your rank, and possibly court marshaled. That is the dangers of partaking in this.”

He elaborated, “Introducing this substance into your system should only be done when you are as good as dead regardless.”

A grim silence fell over the room. I felt bold, still riding the high of the promotion, and asked, “Excuse me sir, but if this is so dangerous and heretical, why allow this to continue, sir?”

“Well,” said the Leftenant with the same somber tonality, “The drug is widely spread throughout the entire guard forces of Hua Yuan with direct contact with Tyranid forces. It is easy to synthesize, being done so on very insular levels. This makes it very hard to regulate and monitor. You had a firsthand account of what the substances capabilities are today, didn't you corporal. Despite the dangers, it can get some results that simply can not be ignored. Your Sargeant elaborate on the history of this practice.”

Our eyes turned to the Platoon Red Pole, a very large imposing man for a hive fighting unit. He was a something of a legend to us, he had been a member of the First before being transferred to us. He rarely spoke but carried a powerfist and wore what appeared to be carnifex fore claw carapace on his forearms and shins. To say he was pants-shitting intimidating was an understatement. He was sent to us after turning down a slot in the stormtroopers.

The Red Pole began in monotone as if it were prepared speech, “Near one hundred years ago, before the First were the famed regiment they are to today, they were conducting pre-operation preparations on of their introductory missions, a raid on a violent new gang in the lower hive. An offworld black-marketeer approached the newly constructed barracks a few days before the mission was set to commence. Some say it was Ollianus Pius himself come to aid his new brothers in the Guard, other say it was a missionary prophet blessed with a vision of the future, and the less religious minded say it was an Inquisitor who simply wanted to use us for an experiment. Nevertheless that man gave the founders’ of the First the first doses of 'Nid Dust. The results of ingesting it were horrific, but effective. It was a natural progression that popular stimms would be mixed with it.”

"This is more than likely all bullshit", he said flatly. "In reality, it is a used as a coping mechanism for the more psychologically damaged exterminators. It heightens what dulled senses are left after the many engagements an exterminator must go on. I have seen this make men perform miracles during engagements, slowly destroying what may be left of them in and out of combat. " being the sensitive man he is, he finished his warning with, "if any of you make this known to the inquisitorial forces, you will be executed as the heretic you are."

He returned to his tale, “The next day several of the First inhaled it before assaulting the Ganger headquarters despite the leftenant's very thorough warning. Thanks to this, we were able to become aware that the compound was laced with late generation genesteeler breed children. Had we entered with intent to save the kids we would have been massacred, had the first 'Guant Stalkers not seen through their deception proceeded to rip through them in a rage. The Exterminators would have been destroyed to man on their first mission. Instead, they were destroyed in a much slower, more productive process of injections.

After that we agreed to keep use using the Dust and keep it secret on pain of death. Anyone who reveals this is killed, along with their entire bloodline.”

I Have Fought Them

I have lived in the underhive for longer than most, and am one of the few survivors of restoration movement. We mutants and outcasts had gathered arms and numbers for years under Boss Toad. Boss Toad's dark rituals made us green and near impossible to kill, when we declared open rebellion against the hive lords we were unstoppable, or so we thought. We had heard a company of hive warfare specialists had been brought from off world. We remained arrogant in our might as we tore through PDF and arbites with our number and toughness. Boss Toad made more green ones every day. The day after Boss Toad set up his headquarters in the captured water treatment plant we thought we had won. Boss Toad began to work a spell on the hive water supply that he said would ensure our victory. Then as we roared in victory, the world exploded in a haze of brightness and furious colors and sound. Then figures dripping the same ooze of colors repelled through the windows spewing light blue flames.

I saw Boss Toad flee in the crossfire to his captured chimera. These blazing blurs of pink and green didn't even pursue the Boss, and detonating more of their sound and fury disappeared as soon as they arrived. The haze cleared just soon enough that I managed to watch Boss Toad start the armored vehicle and I could see it explode in flare of pink. Our might brought low by a car bomb the rebellion faltered without leadership or our source of green ones.

I Have Led Them

Personal Journal of Commissar Phisk entry 167

I have been assigned to the Hua Yuan Exterminators after reports of possible xenos corruption among the Veteran members. I linked up with the Exterminators Vets during one of their many recruiting trips at home. I've met the Exterminators Vets briefly before they went through the hive recruiting, and their armour is very impressively reinforced with 'Nid carapace. I noticed however an abundance of 'guant skulls on some of the troopers as well as small holes drilled in the base of 'guant skulls that has been the source of these rumors of xeno corruption and worship. After dismissing the men to their recruiting duties, I chose to follow an Exterminator officer covered in many xeno skulls, including one that was not yet drilled and seemed to be sealed in wax. I assumed tailing him would be easy due to his distinctive neon armour, however in the neon flashing light of the hive he was a challenge to track down. Through diligence or luck I followed him and witnessed their method of recruiting officer's first hand. The officer went to upper hive and collected his highborn volunteers and lead the young men deep into the lower hive.

The officer candidates were led into an empty warehouse facing 10 enlisted Exterminator regulars and told to kill them. Those who did not immediately charge were dismissed. Hive War requires speed and aggression. The 5 brave souls who did charge were beaten nearly to death by waiting exterminators. The officer, who I had begun to assume was a medical officer, stitched their major bleeding and then choked them unconscious. He then drilled that small hole in the 'Nid skull and mixed a grey powder with the juice he extracted from the skull. To my misfortune I was then grabbed by two carapaced veterans who had discovered my vantage point. I firmly told them to unhand me or face death, but was ignored as they choked me to unconsciousness in a similar way as their recruits.

I was roused roughly outside of a small hab-block. With my five compatriots I was asked if I wanted to lead Exterminators and handed me two neon orange knives. Before I could voice my indignation, a rebreather was strapped to my head and I began to inhale the Tyranid compound. As I was pushed into the hab-block the color faded from the world and I desired only its return. The drabness of the world enraged me as I charged into the block. Then I saw the source of the drabness-- xeno cultists in the hab-- and charged them with my knives; color returned as I killed and purged, the deception of human appearance faded as I saw the truth of these genestealer cults. I saw my allies gain color as they killed alongside me, then when we seemed overwhelmed and prepared to fall in this hell, the Exterminators crashed into the hab-block through the windows killing like neon angels. I awoke in their barracks feeling more ill than I have felt in my entire life, but reassured in purpose to fight alongside the Exterminators, although I felt the world still lacking somewhat in color until I donned my new commissar coat with comfortingly glowing pink and green before my eyes.

On Xenon or 'Nid Dust

Commissar Phisk's Report on Xeno Corruption [unsubmitted at request of the Ordo Xenos][Practice is Probationary Sanctioned for research purposes]

If one is to inspect the Tyranid trophies of an Exterminator-- a rare thing as they tend to be quite protective of them-- they would find that every single one has a uniform hole near the base. This hole is generally used for mounting, but is actually created for an entirely different purpose: the extraction of the Tyranids adrenal glands. The Exterminators are known to produce a wide variety of combat and leisure drugs from the chemicals that can be found therein. Usually taking the form of an iridescent and fine powder, every Exterminator has a unique ritual involving their consumption. Some smoke it, others snort it, a good number inject it, some eat it or mix it with recaf like a sweetener, and some have figured how to huff it as an aerosol. In any form of administration the combat variant of the Tyranid sourced drugs invariably increases reaction time, aggression, and even enhances unit cohesion among those Exterminators who do it as a group. Its withdrawal symptoms are, unfortunately, punishing. Violent seizures, severe narcolepsy, or even hallucinations of being a Tyranid part of the Hivemind have been reported. This, combined with its unusual sourcing and the insular nature of the Exterminators, has meant the glittering Tyranid Dust has not spread beyond the Exterminators.

With the Colonel

One week after my brush with Xenon, I ordered to the Regimental Command office. My head ached like it had never before, making a mockery of my attempts to remain composed, moreso as I knocked on the Colonel's office door.

"Come in."

I stepped into the dim room, the lone occupant eyeing me from across his spartan desk. “Greetings Commissar Phisk.” Standing, Colonel Hong met me with a well mannered bow. “I trust your... unscheduled visit to the underhive was at the very least enlightening?”

Smug bastard, right though he may be.

"I understand you came here suspicious of our eccentricities," he said, gesturing to a chair before his desk. As I eased myself into the chair, he continued talking. "You may be wondering why I requested a commissar from outside the local Schola as opposed to one who would be better familiarized with our dance on the razor's edge of corruption." I found the Colonel's self-assuredness stunning - he would risk a report of heresy to Munitorum and the Commissariat? I could but trust the Colonel had a good reason.

He looked back at me with a wry grin as he lit a cigar with a vaguely familiar odor. As his face settled back to a more somber expression, he continued. "It's no secret among the brass here that a major bug invasion is imminent in the next ten years, and the 1st will be in the thick of it. When the time comes, they could be possibly the most important regiment involved. The problem with our local Commissars is they are only experienced with dealing with our inferior penal regiments. Conscripted losers of gang wars, dosed to the hilt with 'Nid dust, given trash local lasguns, and poured screaming on the Tyranid fire in hopes of quenching it. The leader of our Schola Commissar-General Fengxian is rumored to want to install one of his commissars in the first to expand his influence. His commissars don't care that the Exterminators are specialists, real soldiers, but explaining to a Commissar who leads little better penal units that charging directly through a tunnel after your enemy in a hive is never a good idea, and you're likely to end up with bolter holes in your head."

"I believe a commissar who has survived as long as yourself will realize the need for tactical discretion. Your presence here keeps one of Mao's lackeys from compromising the First. If Mao has the backing of The First he could demand theater command from the Praetorians, the ambitious bastard." "But you want to someone who will allow your men to operate with their 'cultural' differences permitted." I paused, wondering if he knew of my contacts in the Inquisition. "You would have killed me in an instant if you thought I would inform superiors of your Tyranid Dust."

"Hua Yuan is a dangerous place for off-worlders," he said, eyeing me through the smoky air. Not breaking eye contact, he slowly handed me one of his cigars.

"Welcome to First of Hua Yong. The Hive fleet will fall here, or nowhere."

Alone in Glory

The underhive signage vibrated and flickered. Its harsh purple glow cast Private Hsien’s shadow down the hall as he stepped through the hab unit’s open door and into the waiting darkness. Hsien could almost taste the shadows there was something palpable in the air, vaguely electric, and it wasn’t the usual stench of the lower levels. Outside of the narrow column of sickly neon light seeping past his body, the room was abnormally dark. The guardsman silently raised his lasrifle to his shoulder, readying his finger on the trigger, and dropped to a crouch. He swore softly under his breath, cursing the eternal hum of the underhive core. He couldn’t hear a thing, and didn’t dare step back outside. He was being watched.

In one quick motion, Hsien dropped his left hand, activating his adrena-kit and snatching the grenade from his belt. The “Hua Yuan Special” chirped briefly as he pressed the cycle button and tossed it underhand. There was no detonation when it met the floor, but a split second later the ‘nade projected a myriad of bright lights in every direction, each thin line tracing a random pinpoint pattern as it danced across the walls. The grenade simultaneously flashed a single bright white light once and began to emit a steady stream of shimmering pink smoke. The darkness was illuminated for a brief moment, and Hsien could see the creatures – a half dozen hunched, twisted figures with inhuman shapes, waiting in the far corners of the room. Blinded, each hissed, but Hsien was already moving. He blasted one creature’s head straight from its shoulders, a bit of gore splattering across its partners’ faces, then ducked, rolling into the shadows just as the monstrous abominations sprang into action.

The creatures may have been raised in the dark, but they were no match for Hua Yuan’s finest in the thick fluorescent smoke. As the Special’s bright tracer lines spun around the room and pierced through the haze, Hsien used them to judge the distance of each creature. He blasted the nearest two in quick succession – one crashing to the ground as its knee evaporated, the other left clutching what was left of its face. The three survivors were almost on him now, but Hsien was ready. As the first creature reached out to grab him, he fired into its chest at point blank. The body fell away, still grasping towards him futilely, and Hsien bashed another with the butt of his gun and it, too, collapsed. The private felt a clawed hand tear across his shoulder, but the adrenaline mixture pumping through his veins dulled the pain. He spun on one heel, ducking a second swing, and downed the creature with two quick shots to the abdomen. The private didn’t allow himself a second to catch his breath. The xenos he’d bunted earlier was getting back up, and he couldn’t allow that. He screamed and unleashed a volley of orange las bolts, cutting it in half at the waist. As if the Emperor himself were directing the show, the Special ended its routine just as the cultist’s upper body slid to the floor. Hsien couldn’t help but grin – not a bad performance, all things considered.

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.

深红恶魔的传说。

Hua Yuan is a place all about tales, from the mundane to the magical. Etched into cathedral walls, whispered amongst social circles, spray painted on hab-block walls, sung about in song and synth. There are few stories that Gardeners will refuse to gossip about. The Crimson Demon is one of these stories. Where he came from, who he was before he put on the mask and jacket, what caused him to fight, no one knows. Some say he was the legendary racer Cho Chung that reigned supreme in the Diamond's Edge before his disappearance in the great Sek-Kip Min Fires. Others say he was a just a worker in a manufactorum, and that his steed came to him as the Emperor did to Mandan the Wise, and gave him his mission. Others say it was always The Ride, and the Demon was simply its will made human. What is known is the Mask, the Jacket, and The Ride. He appeared first with The Ride, a custom racer as red as blood and built like a weapon of war; angled sheets of armour and a sleek design turned the car into a knife that cut through the cramped spaces of Hua Yuan, letting the devilish speedster gouge through alleyways and plow through crowds. He appeared first in a gang war in the middle of the low hive, a borderline revolt to claim a Lift Spire for themselves. When the gates of the Lift opened and the gangs scrambled to claim it, the crowds rushed out, attempting to avoid the gunfire, but a single figure remained-- a racer in a red hood and black leather jumper atop the wheeled beast known only as The Ride. With an inhuman screech he hopped into the machine and barreled into the firefight. It took the driver taking out a heavy gun team in a single U-turn for the gangs to realize that firing at each other wasn't going to get them anywhere.

Cadences

He Ain't Gonna Jump No More

This Song of a rookie trooper attempting his first rappel infiltration into enemy territory, a risky maneuver even in training, is used to haze and harden new Exterminators.

He was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with fright,

He checked all his equipment and made sure his pack was tight;

He had to sit and listen to those awful xeno roar,

"You ain't gonna jump no more!"

(CHORUS)

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

He ain't gonna jump no more!

"Is everybody happy?" cried the Sergeant looking up,

Our Hero feebly answered "Yes," and then they stood him up;

He jumped into the night, his blinker armed, his static line was hooked,

He ain't gonna jump no more.

(CHORUS)

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

He ain't gonna jump no more!

He counted long, he counted loud, he waited for the shock,

He felt the wind, he felt the cold, he felt the awful drop,

The slack from his line spilled out, and wrapped around his legs,

He ain't gonna jump no more.

(CHORUS)

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

He ain't gonna jump no more!

The risers swung around his neck, connectors cracked his dome,

Suspension lines were tied in knots around his skinny bones;

The canopy became his shroud; he hurtled to the ground.

He ain't gonna jump no more.

(CHORUS)

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

He ain't gonna jump no more!

The days he'd lived and loved and laughed kept running through his mind,

He thought about the girl back home, the one he'd left behind;

He thought about the medic corps, and wondered what they'd find,

He ain't gonna jump no more.

(CHORUS)

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

He ain't gonna jump no more!

The ambulance was on the spot, the jeeps were running wild,

The medics jumped and screamed with glee, they rolled their sleeves and smiled,

For it had been a week or more since last a line had failed,

He ain't gonna jump no more.

(CHORUS)

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

He ain't gonna jump no more!

He hit the ground, the sound was "SPLAT", his blood went spurting high;

His comrades, they were heard to say "A hell of a way to die!"

He lay there, rolling 'round in the welter of his gore,

He ain't gonna jump no more.

(CHORUS)

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

He ain't gonna jump no more!

(slowly, solemnly; about half the speed of the other verses)

There was blood upon the risers, there were brains upon the chute,

Intestines were a-dangling from his Exterminators suit,

He was a mess, they picked him up, and poured him from his boots,

He ain't gonna jump no more.

(CHORUS)

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,

He ain't gonna jump no more!

Napalm Sticks to 'Nids

The Kroot, the Tau, Cultist, ‘Nid We shoot the sick, the young, the lame, We do our best to kill and maim, Because the kills all count the same, Napalm sticks to ‘nids.

Chorus: Napalm sticks to ‘nids, Napalm sticks to ‘nids.

Flying low across the trees, Pilots doing what they please, Dropping frags on crying grots, Napalm sticks to ‘nids.

Tau in the open, making hay, But I can hear the gunships say, "There'll be no Greater Good today," Napalm sticks to ‘nid.

See those Tau farmers over there, Watch me get them with a pair, Blood and guts just everywhere, Napalm sticks to ‘nids.

I've only seen it happen twice, But both times it was mighty nice, Shooting Tau civilians planting rice, Napalm sticks to ‘nids.

Napalm, son, is lots of fun, Dropped in a bomb or shot from a gun, It gets the gants when on the run, Napalm sticks to ‘nids.

Drop some napalm on a Tau farm, It won't do them any harm, Just burn off their legs and arms, Napalm sticks to ‘nids.

I've been told it's not so neat, To catch cultists burning in the street, But burning flesh, it smells to sweet, Napalm sticks to ‘nids.

Artillery don't care a bit, Just as long as the pieces fit, When you stuff the bodies in a pit, Napalm sticks to ‘nids.

Eighteen ‘nids in a No Fire Zone, Fleshborers in hand and going home, Last in line goes home alone, Napalm sticks to ‘nids.

Valkyries flying in the sun, Killing cultists is lots of fun, Get one pregnant and it's two for one, Napalm sticks to ‘nids.

Shoot civilians where they sit, Take some pictures as you split, All your life you'll remember it, Napalm sticks to ‘nids.

Exterminators are all hard core, Blinkers and Las never are a bore, Throw those PSYOPS out the door, Napalm sticks to ‘nids.

Gather ‘nids as you fly over town, By throwing corpses on the ground, Then grease 'em when they gather 'round, Napalm sticks to ‘nids.