"And in our final days, when our world will see the end. The Emperor's burning light shall finally burn us clean. You see, this world is cursed, to its rotten core. And we were cursed for being born, brought, or stationed here."

- Commissar Wrathborne, addressing the state of the current Chaos infection of Althura.

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Chapter One: Slow Start.

Johnson had never been known for his ability to keep still for long. So when word had hit him about civil unrest in Tigris one of the planets biggest population hubs, he was one of the first groups to muster up and roll out in a chimera towards Tigris. Althura's Own Imperal Guardsmen Corps 23rd, Second Company Sergeant Seth Johnson; the so called "Hammerheads" company. He'd brought with him two APC's worth of men, more disciplined than the PDF (Planetary Defence Force). Johnson had never had problems bringing a group of people to compliance; forming up the two tanks, lining up his men in front of them, and unloading a small volley over their heads usually did the trick. Then a few days of martial law got the point across, unruly behavior means everyone suffers. Not that civil unrest on Althura was common.

The driver chirped in his ear informing them they'd reached the site.

"Alright men, standard formation, put a few over their heads. Wilks, your squad up front. Jefferies, in the back. If the bastards fire back, fall to the rear of the transports and we'll see how they like the taste of bolter fire," Johnson said while the transport ramps dropped and men filed out.

Two taps on the bead let him know that the command was recieved and acknowledged. He climbed the steps to the pictle mounted bolter on the back in case someone got in behind them and decided to take a pot-shot at the men while they fell back. As soon as he opened the hatch, however, he noticed something was wrong.

"Uh sir?" Jefferies said into his bead. "Where's all the unrest?"

"Keep your head on Jefferies, Maybe they stopped cause they heard we were comin'," Wilks said. "Packed up and went home. All that good stuff."

"And if you were part of a mob and had your greedy little paws on the stuff you wanted, and then heard the Imperial Guard were comin' you'd tidy up the place too? Not drop your s**t and run like Horus himself was after ya?" Jefferies shot back.

"Cut the chatter, Jefferies. Wilks, take your squad forward and find me some sign that someone was here. A over turned trash can, broken windows, something. A candy wrapper will do. Jefferies, you and your squad get the honor of parking your asses next to the transports. Wilks, wait one, I'll join you," Johnson said.

"Jefferies, how you ever got in charge of us is a mystery I'll never solve," one of his men said.

"Can it, a*****e, or I'll see you on the parade grounds with your lasrifle over your head and two sandbags attached to either end, and you'll stay that way till I get tired."

Jefferies was a bit of a jabberjaw, but he was a good man. Johnson slid down, grabbing the hatch and shutting it, then grabbed his bolt pistol and a chainsword from the weapon rack. He then dashed ahead to join with Wilks and his squad. The street was completely empty, which was odd at this time of day. Odder still was that there should have been people rioting, a sign of PDF presence at the very least.

"Too quiet," one of Wilk's men said.

"Quiet. You wont hear them sneaking up on you if you're talking, trooper," Wilks admonished.

"Wait, hear that?" Johnson said.

The squad froze and their ears perked up. A low whispering seemed to come from an alley way, or one of the nearby buildings.

"Teams of two, split up; find the source. Go, go, go," Johnson said.

Wilks and one of his other men, Yates, and Johnson went down to investigate a nearby shop, while two went down one section, another two went down the other. The other four went another direction Johnson couldn't track. The sign above the door read "Tigir Bakery". As they walked in a bell rattled, attatched to the door. Wilks and Yates fanned out and moved quickly to the front; Johnson wasn't far behind.

"Sir," Yates said. "Look, a hand print. Count as a sign of life, Sarge?"

Johnson went over to Yates. A bloody hand print was smeared on the lower portion of the counter as if someone had been dragged off.

"Squads, be advised: mob may have hostages, proceed with caution."

They followed the hand print to behind the counter where a man, or what was left of a man, and a pipe covered in gore, apparently used to beat the man, laid scattered a little ways to his side. Johnson knelt down and touched the body.

"Warm, means this guy got beat to death shortly before we showed up," Johnson murmered.

"Who the warp would do this?" Yates said, blanching, next to him.

"Dunno, but whoever did this can't be far away," Johnson stated, then pressed his finger on his bead. "Tell me someone out there has found something? If you haven't its no rations for a week and dou-"

"Sir, Niels here," Niels broke in. "We've found someone here, but she seems to be in some sort of shock. Won't respond to us, maybe you'll have better response? We're on the south side of the bakery. She looks pretty banged up, too, sir."

"Good, finally someone to tell us what the frak is going on," Johnson said. "Denmark, your carrying the field kit, right? You and your mate meet up with me at Niel's position."

"Roger," Denmark replied.

"Wilks, you're with me," Johnson said before heading out the door.

"Sir, shouldn't we inform the rest of the squad about the body?" Yates asked.

"No sense in spooking the rest of the squad till we know whats going on, Yates," Johnson replied without looking behind his shoulder.

They rushed out of the bakery and hooked around the corner at double time. They came upon Niels who was facing them, his lasrifle in a relaxed hold but ready to shoulder at a moments notice. Denmark and his mate weren't far behind. Berk (Niels' mate) was nudging the girl with his boot, looking down and talking at her.

"Hey. Hey. Hey, you stupid b***h. Can you hear me?" Berk said.

Shoving Berk aside, Denmark looked at his mate and held up his fist, then hit Berk in the leg and motioned for him to find something else to do.

"Sorry about Berk there, little lady, are you feeling alright? Let me see your face now, hun," Denmark said.

"Watch our backs," Johnson said to Wilks and knelt down with Denmark.
"Hi there, miss. How're you doing today?"

The girl was unresponisive to them both, letting Denmark examine her face, then her arms and legs. She appeared to have had her clothing rended, but the blood that covered her didn't appear to be hers. Maybe the girl was crazy and had done the damage. She let out a giggle and seemed to notice them all for a second. Then she started murmering.

"The lion's out side of your door, the wolf's in your bed." She giggled again.

"What's that, hun?" Denmark said.

"The Lion's claws are sharpened for war, the wolf's teeth are red," she said in a sing song voice.

"She's fraking nuts. Lets get out of here," Berk said.

"Shut it Berk. I'll call the shots around here." Johnson said. "Are you feeling alright, miss?"

"And what a monstrous sound he makes, mocking man's best friend!"She started increasing in pitch. "And both the Lion and the Wolf crave the same thing in the end!!"

"Denmark, give her a sedative. Let's pack her and go. Jefferies, get ready to pack one more. We're blowing this place, gives me the creeps. Plus, we found one alive, one dead. I think we'll need more then two squads to figure out what happened here."

Denmark injected the girl with a syringe and waited for her to collapse. However, when he withdrew the needle she backhanded him and leapt up and over Denmark, right onto the back of Berk, growling and scratching and biting before any of them could really react.

"Frak! Frak! Frak! Get her the frak off me!" Berk cried and pitched backwards to the wall, slamming her against it. She held on.

Wilks quickly hit the girl across the head with the butt of his lasgun. She kept biting down, and Berk slammed her against the wall two more times before she managed to weigh him down. It was probably the best thing for him because with the combined might of Johnson, Wilks and Denmark, they were able to finally beat her off Berk and restrain her. They held her down while Wilks got some cuffs around her wrists, then Johnson told Denmark to check on Berk, who had sat up and was holding a wound on his neck.

"I told you she was fraking nutters! But does anyone listen to me?" Berk yelled.

"I can't tell you anymore than there was enough tranq to put down an ambull," Denmark replied while moving Berk's hand to check the wound. "Deep, almost got your carotid. Lucky b*****d."

"Frak you, you get bit and I'll call you the lucky one." Berk shot back.

"Enough!" Johnson yelled. "Stop being an a*****e and let him patch you up."

"Sarge..." Yates said, "we got movement at the edge of the alleyway."

"Hold your fire, it may be friendly," Johnson said and let Wilks continue to hold the girl down; she was now growling frantically. He hit his comm bead and shouted to both squads. "Is it one of us, moving into the alley on the south side?"

One tap on the bead let him know that Jefferies hadn't come to support. Another let him know that one squad was where they were supposed to be. The last one didnt come in.

"God damn it, Jenkins, respond," Johnson said into his bead.

"Sir, I dont think its Jenkins," Yates said and leveled his rifle.

Ambling rather slowly down the alley way was the form of the man whom they'd just seen behind the counter of the bakery.

"Hey sir, hold it right there," Johnson said.

He kept coming. It was possible that the man was in shock and couldn't hear him, but after being attacked Johnson was wary.

"Yates, put one over his head," Johnson said "Warning shot, first and last." He said loudly as the crisp crack of the lasrifle went off.

Still the form came, slow and sure. He could see that the eyes were gone, no way in hell it could walk by sight.

"Yates, one in the gut. Lets see if that stops him," Johnson said.

The lasrifle cracked; it staggered back a step, but didn't stop.

"Yates, Tarkin, open fire," Johnson said while bringing his own pistol to bear.
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