Disco Marines
Yet another /tg/ SPESS MEHREENS Chapter.
Story the First
+++++ From the historical records of Inquisitor Jangel, non-aligned investigator of Adeptus Astartes "Incidents". Section #511: The Last Transmission of Mordian Regiment #453 +++++
It was about a month into the latest push - I think our frontline had moved about three, maybe four feet forward. Day after day we spent staring into the fog, waiting for another wave of the Necrons. We all knew the line was buckling, and there was still no news of reinforcements. Then, a week after their last attack exactly, we heard the Necrons preparing. Monoliths were barely visible through the fog, probing the Imperial lines for weak points. So there we are, shitting ourselves, watching for glimpses of those fucking robots, when help finally arrives!
I know what you’re thinking - when you’re told you aren’t getting reinforcements in this army, there’s no way in hell you’re getting any help. And still, there they were! Four or five squads of Space Marines, complete with a Whirlwind tank and a Dreadnought! We were so surprised to see them that Corporal Sutton actually shot himself, thinking the robot scum finally had us surrounded.
Anyway, we approach the Marines with the Major, and those guys were a sight - they weren’t wearing any kind of uniform colors - it looked like they’d just painted themselves whatever they liked. I shit you not when I say I saw one wearing bright purple with pink polka dots. They pulled up just behind our trenches, and their leader waved to us. I’ll never forget that helmet - first time I ever saw a silver Tau helmet on a Space Marine. That guy gave off an aura of easy style, I’m telling you. The men visibly relaxed when he got close. “Alright gang, D Marines, here to help!” the figure bellowed when it reached us, giving the Major a heavy pat on the shoulder. A “<3” symbol flashed across the viewing slit. “You guys relax, we’ve got this sorted!” we gaped in awe as “STAY COOL” flashed across his visor.
So they mobilized right away, jumped our trench and fanned out all professional style in front of the lines. The Dreadnought lumbered up behind them, and the whirlwind parked behind us. By now the Necrons were visible, slowly stalking towards us, rank upon rank of skeletal figures. The Major nudged me in the ribs and grinned. “See now? They’re locking targets with their missile launchers!” He shouted, pointing towards the Whirlwind. I looked, and saw that the missile launchers were indeed prepping themselves. Except they didn’t look like missile launchers. They looked like amps. “And now they’re tossing out grenades! This is the might of the Imperium, my boy!” The Major went on.
Then the grenades went off, in a blinding flash of white light. I squinted out ahead of us, and saw that each Marine had struck a pose. I gotta say, they looked fucking great. Behind us, the Whirlwind amps began thumping out a beat, and the Dreadnought’s floodlights blazed on and off, creating a dazzling strobe effect. I found the Marine Commander in the line. He had his Power Fist in the air. The amps behind me muttered “Time has come to...”, and one finger went up. The beat went on. “Time has come to...” Two fingers. “World...the time has come to...” Three fingers. “GALVANIZE” And fuck me, they put on one hell of a show. They had the whole damn regiment dancing, right up until the part where the Necrons burst over the parapet and tore everyone apart. Me and a few of the lads got away, and looking back at the struggling mass as we fled I saw a banner waving defiantly from the heart of the Necron horde, proclaiming “HARDER, BETTER, FASTER, STRONGER” into the night, and a voice shouting "One more time!"
I'm telling you, it was the Disco Marines. Always dancing, all the time.
Story the Second
You know what they say about the Mordian Iron Guard. "Not one step back, Victory or Death!" Unflinching discipline will face down any foe! Well, turns out that’s just regular old recruitment bullshit. Last time we spoke, I told you about how we lost the frontline to the Necron interlopers. Hell, we all expected we’d be back in the same trenches within a week, but it really hasn’t gone our way. Four months on and we’re in headlong retreat along cramped dirt roads all chewed up by Baneblade treads. All the bloody rain's turned it into a mudbath, and the going had been painfully slow.
Anyway, we were three weeks into the retreat, exhausted, and that’s how we met the Disco Marines for a second time. We knew the Necrons’d be closing fast, so the colonel sent out a distress call for evac. Well, turns out luck was on our side and we got not one, but two replies from friendly dropship squadrons. The Colonel didn’t bother to stop them both from converging on us, as he knew we’d need all the ships we could get if we were getting everyone out of there.
So yeah, they arrive after about half an hour, and to the horror of us Guardsmen, they’re Ultramarine Thunderhawks. Now, no offense to the Emperor, but these guys are total dicks. Self-righteous pricks, the lot of them. We’d met them before on the campaign, and we knew all they ever did to "help" was stop the retreat and force us all into some "noble" last stand against the robots, hopping in their dropships and fucking off right before they all died, of course, leaving the piled corpses of thousands of Mordians behind them. Sure, they aren’t expendable like regular Guardsmen, but why even get into the last stand in the first place? Fucking glory hogs, all I got was two fingers lopped off.
ANYWAY, we’re all grumbling as they land up in front of us, and the Marines come out. Very official, very professional. Emperor's finest, etc, etc. Their commander, huge guy, scarred face, walks over to the Colonel and says in ringing tones, so the whole regiment can hear: "I suppose you want us to carry your men to safety, Colonel? Well, I have some good news. The retreat stops here. With the Emperor’s steel, and the Emperor’s courage, we shall face down the Necron scum! Here, we make our stand! HERE, WE-" We’d all been losing interest by this point - heroic speeches become less impressive when you get them once a week - but we all heard it, in the distance; a rhythmic thumping. Soon the Marine Commander could hear it too, and we all strained to hear the words over the blaring tune.
“'Do the D.A.N.C.E! 1, 2, 3, 4, fight! Stick to the B.E.A.T! Get ready to ignite!”
I knew who was coming when I heard that. And I’ll admit, I pissed myself a little bit I was so relieved. Maybe we wouldn’t have to join in with the stupid last stand! The Disco Marines were here to help! They had it sorted!
“Do the DANCE! The way you move is a mystery! Do the DANCE! You’re always there for music and me!”
And on that note, the Disco 'Hawks landed. God, they were great. I’ve never seen so much sparkly paint on Imperial armor. The bay doors opened, and out they came. It was in the day this time, so I could read their insignias - I didn’t see much in the way of Latin or purity seals, but there were a lot of mottoes. I glimpsed “Black by popular demand”, “Catching all the lights” and “Electroma” as they passed. Then they parted ranks, and out he came. I thought he must’ve died at the frontlines, but there he was, the Disco Commander, silver Tau helmet shining bright in the weak sunlight, wearing a thick purple cloak about his shoulders. He looked my way, and a “;)” slid across his visor.
So yeah, no-one’s spoken in a while now. The Ultramarines are all standing at attention, and across the way the Disco Marines are leant up against their Thunderhawks, unpacking amps and all sorts of tech shit. The Disco Commander walked over to the Ultramarine head, and the guy growls as he approaches. “What the hell are you wankers doing here?” “We got a distress call. It sounds like these men are in dire need of some fun times.” The Disco Commander says. “STAY COOL” flashes on the visor. “You can fuck off. These men are under my command, and I say they fight, AND DIE.” he raised his voice so we could all hear him clearly for that. “Right here!” “They’re as much under my command as yours, Brother Amulius. You know there’s only one way to settle this.” Says the commander, and as he finishes, off comes the cloak, revealing the resplendent gold-on purple patterns underneath, the strobe lights flare, and the Disco Commander bellows “DANCE OFF!” The Marines behind him immediately take up the cry, and the amps blast a ringing “LETS! DANCE!” at the Ultramarines.
Yeah, so that’s when the Ultramarine, Amulius, snaps. He goes fucking apeshit. His jaw twitches, and then he screams, spraying the commander with spittle; “Enough! Fucking! DANCE! BULLSHIT!” And on the “shit”, he bunches his fist and lays one on the commander. We all winced in sympathy, it was one hell of a punch. But the commander, he just takes a couple steps back, shakes his head, and looks up. There was a big ol’ dent in his helmet, and “IT’S SO ON” flashing repeatedly on the visor. He pushes a button on his wrist, and the heat vents on his backpack swivel to face Amulius. Yeah, turns out they’re amps too, and they start pumping a beat straight at him. The commander’s getting into it, letting the beat carry him as it gets louder, louder, louder, until even the furthest Guardsmen had to jam their fingers in their ears. And I still hear it all perfectly, the strobe lights still blazing, the commander framed against Amulius, making his lazy dance steps seemingly without a care in the world. Then the real tune hits us. “Put your hands up!” We winced again, even the Ultramarines were showing discomfort. “Put your hands up!” A couple of Guardsmen pass out. “PUT YOUR HANDS UP FOR DETROIT!” Amulius sinks to his knees, clutching his head. “OUR LOVELY CITY!” And the commander thrusts sharply forward, slamming his crotch plate into Amulius’ face, breaking his nose and sending him sprawling into the mud.
And hell, we couldn’t help but cheer the guy on. Let me tell you, we had one hell of a party right there, crowd heaving as the Disco Marines lead the beat from their 'Hawk-top decks.
Yeah, it was going great until the part where the Ultramarines rushed forward and started bashing our faces in with their bolters.
Self-righteous pricks.
Story the Last
This will be my last message to you - all I can do is hope an Imperial receiver catches all this and forwards it. The campaign’s gone from disastrous to catastrophic in the last few months, with the seemingly infinite tide of Necrons crawling all over the planet’s surface. In the end we retreated to our remaining strongholds, and that’s when the traitor legion arrived - Slaanesh Marines, thousands of them, hit us like a ton of bricks. We’ve gone over why they decided come again and again, and the only conclusion we’ve reached is that they saw an opportunity for carnage and just jumped to join in.
So yeah, the traitorous bastards hit our fortresses, one after another, and they fall one by one. How were we supposed to stem the Necron advance on the one side and hold off perverted cultists on the other? Anyway, the Ultramarines, now in charge of the campaign, realize that we’re more or less fucked. Scattered Mordian companies and regiments all over the place, millions dead, and no progress. So they uncharacteristically forgo their last stand for once, instead opting to pull out entirely. That’s it. We’re all alone on a planet full of robots and chaos scum. Then what’s left of our regiment, holed up in the mountains, gets a message over the comm link. It was right from the campaign flagship. I guess it must’ve been a planet-wide broadcast. Anyway, it went something like this:
“Men, you’ve all fought bravely, but the heretics and living metal scum have overrun us. Countless good soldiers have gone to their graves in the defense of the Imperium, and I regret that I must sacrifice many more to put an end to this calamity. The order of Exterminatus has been confirmed on this planet, and is scheduled to commence within the next three hours. There will be no further evacuation of the planet’s surface - our forces are too scattered, and the dropzones too dangerous to allow it. But remember, men, in death you will serve the Imperium, saving countless more from the corruption and the slaughter that follows these affronts to the Emperor’s grace. We may have lost this fight, but it only opens the door to new, fresh, glorious victories! I only regret you brave men will not be there to see them. In His name.”
That’s it. That’s all we got. So yeah, we sit there all glum, until we hear the distant sound of roaring engines. We all ran up to the parapet of our little outpost, and sure enough a whole bunch of the Slaanesh Marines are racing up the slope towards us, clinging on to the sides of their rhinos, screaming their warcries. Our first reaction was to ready our weapons, but a few, realizing the futility of clinging on to life for another few hours, opted to end it there. Idiots. Help was at hand! A low electronic rhythm, and a great, metallic voice roaring over the tune:
“Prime time of your life! Now! Live it! The prime time of your life! Prime time of your life!”
Yeah, that’s right. The Disco Marines, back again! This time, they were cruising in landspeeders, and it was one hell of an entrance. We hear them coming up behind us, and turn around to see the first one hit the parapet. The driver jumped the ridge at an angle, so the speeder did a couple of barrel rolls as it jumped, confetti blasting out behind it as it went, to land perfectly about five feet away from our guys. Within seconds the air’s full of more speeders, careening over our meager defenses. We all forgot about the Slaanesh Marines and cheered them on as they got out of their seats.
Now usually the Disco Marines have a laid back air about them, but not this time. They get out of their speeders and rush to the parapet overlooking the advancing enemy. Others snap open cases and start assembling their gear. They really looked like they meant business. The Colonel saluted the Disco Commander when he finally appears, striding purposefully out from amongst his men, and began to tell him about the heretic threat. The commander interrupted him. “I know, Colonel. Those aren’t ordinary Marines. They’re Noise Marines. We’ll handle this.” His visor read “SERIOUS”. It was terrifying, frankly. What in the Emperor’s name could make a Disco Marine so somber?
Well, we were about to find out. The Disco Mrines lined up in front of the defenses, and the Noise Marines stopped their charge a little way from them. It’s gone deathly quiet - the only things moving are the LED lights on some of the Disco Marine backpacks, spelling out slogans like “INTERSTELLAR”, “Born 4 the beat”, and “REMIXAR”. Looking at them then, the Noise Marines looked a lot like the Disco Marines, actually. Sure, their amps were built into their faces and they looked all fucked up with their soundblasters hanging at their hips, but they each had their own look, like the commander’s lot.
Anyway, the commander steps out into the empty ground between them. His Noise Marine counterpart does the same. They stare at each other for a while. The Noise Marine’s the first to speak. “Brother. It’s been a long time.” He rasps. “Not long enough, Lepidus.” Replied the commander, casually, but his poise betrayed him - tense, stiff. Lepidus, the Noise Marine, laughed. “Very well, commander. You will fight for them?” He smirked, gesturing towards us. The commander nodded. “Good. Allow me to begin!”
And with that, he brought his hands down on the soundblaster, letting out a discordant howl - more Noise Marines joined, and suddenly out of the chaos a tune emerged, surprisingly catchy and upbeat. Lepidus led the beat, wailing to the tune. I couldn’t quite make it out, but it sounded something like;
“Hiiiiigh life! Myyy life! HIIIIIGH LIIIIIIIIFE!”
There was a clear cessation of movement in the air, and the Disco Marines collectively took a step back under the sheer pressure of sound. But the commander took two steps forward. One of the Marines behind him grabs a mic and tosses it to him, and the rest ready their synthesizers and decks. The commander catches the flying microphone, slings it round under his helmet, and the Disco Marines start their own tune. The Noise Marines stopped as the new sounds hit them, starting with a piercing beat and gradually loudening to a pant-shitting crescendo. The commander nods along for a few moments, then starts his riposte.
“Ahh! Because we! Are! Your friends! You’ll! Never be alone again! Come on! Well come on! We! Are! Your friends!”
On that, he turns to us, and starts clapping to the beat. We clap along with him, cheering the commander on - by this time lights of all colors are flaring on both sides, and the first rank of Disco Marines advanced, pumping their fists in the air and doing some fucking great dance moves.
The Noise Marines had suffered this for a while by then, and Lepidus gave the signal for a counterstrike. The first two ranks of Slaanesh Marines marched forward and began blasting out a ferocious tune. The Disco Marines responded in turn, blasting out an equally energetic beat to counter it, with us still cheering them on. You could actually SEE the music, writhing and curling about the rivals, their amps hissing smoke and their instruments, in some cases, actually aflame. Soon they were completely wreathed in smoke, and all we could hear was a violent, chaotic musical frenzy emanating from within. Occasional flashes of purple or red darted through the smoke.
We watched that for several minutes, then the Colonel stands up. “The Marines are fighting for us in there, men! It’s time to stand shoulder to shoulder with them!” He bellows, raising his sword. As one, we jumped the parapet and rushed into the smoke, screaming our defiance.
God, that smoke was thick. Couldn’t see a damn thing, but after a few moments stumbling through it, we burst into the eye of the storm. And what a sight we got. I’m not lying here, this is the solid truth. I don’t know where they got the stage from. I don’t know how they’d got their guys to coordinate for these songs. But they’d done it. We got in there to find the Disco Marines and Noise Marines side by side on the stage, banging out a tune. Lepidus and the commander were standing at the front of the platform, back to back, both of them blasting out the beats on their instruments of funk. The commander’s visor reads “PEACE”, and as he sees us arrive, he beckons us over to the front, and shouts; “YOU READY FOR THIS SHIT, MORDIANS?”
They then proceeded to lay down something wonderful.
And that’s where I am now. I’ve left the party to record this message for you, using the regimental comm link to broadcast it as far as I can. The Exterminatus barrage has just begun, I can see the sky burning on the horizon. I imagine we only have about ten minutes before the atmosphere’s totally stripped. Still.
We’re gonna celebrate. Oh yeah. One more time. Oh yeah. Don’t stop the dancing. One more time.
+++++ Thought for the day: "The Beat can never die." +++++
[TRANSMISSION ENDS]