++Deatrix’s Diary++

Introduction:

My name is Deatrix Mary-Anna Ollifix, born in the backwaters of Cyrus-Vulpa. Cyrus

is an Agri-World full of a buncha independent businesses and rough’n’tumble folk. Hell, my
family’s a buncha Grox-farmers, breeders and catchers. There ain’t a Grox this side of the
Kronous Expanse that an Ollifix can’t down, skin, butcher, cook, season, eat and fashion within
an hour. But this ain’t their diary, it’s mine.

I’m 26 years old (hard to believe with my looks, right?) and an Arbite, to boot. Have been
for a coupla years at that. Ever since Zerks’ passing. Shew, I miss his stupid ass.

Zerks is my late husband. Died in the line of duty. He was an Arbite too. High-ranker at
that. Praetus “Rex” introduced us. That’s my brother. He’s an Arbite too and man, was he
steamin’ when I said I wanted to take Zerks’ place when he died. But ta hell with him, I got the
training, I passed the courses, written and physical. Outran, out-jumped, and out-maneuvered
all those fuggin’ Hivers n’ city-walkers.

Point bein’, I became an Arbite for my late baby’s sake, and Emprah-damned Rex’ll hate
me for it for the resta his days.

And oh Emprah, speakin’ of babies... Shew. Zerks n I tried to have a kid once. Didn’t
work. Not one bit. Well, shouldn’t say that. He was conceived, yeah, that was the easy part. And
the fun part. But shew, we never saw that baby. Alive at least.

Still born. Buh. Fuggin’ hated it. All that time, all that waitin n’ hopin fer nothin. Shew, the
Emprah has some way of showin’ his love fer his followers.

Zerks was as miserable as I was about it. He wanted to forget it and try again. I said it’d
be too soon. He was a bit flustered about it, but agreed.

We got ta keep a memento though. My idea. Before the Tech-folk carted the littlun off, I
asked if I could keep the head. The skull at least.

Weird request from a mother, right? Keepin the head of yer dead kid? But hell, how I see
it is that I get ta keep a little bitta him with me at all times and he gets to be one-a those flyin
Cherub-things. Win win. I’ll never forget ‘im and he gets to fly.

Or at least that’s how I like to see it.

The Inquisition:
 Right. So. This diary. I’m keepin it ‘cause of my new title in the Inquisiton. That’s right
The Inqu-fuggin-sition. Some fella, an Inquisitor I guess, came by the barracks and said he
was “Screening for potential Acolytes for his Cell”. Honestly? No clue what that meant. But
there were try-outs, like the Arbites had, but a helluva lot more tryin. Lotta runnin, some shootin,
some huntin and another written bit. It was all about xenos and daemons n’ junk. Thank Zerks
above I did horrifically on it, since the fellas who scored too high got carted off. Never saw their
faces ‘round these parts ever again.

But yeah, I won. Not surprised though, an Ollifix can do anythin’ they set their mind
to. ‘Cept maybe Rex. That dumbass.

Our squad’s got a funny name though, one I actually need to practice to remember.
Inquisitor Voltmourne’s Retinue: Ordo Malleus-Xenos Task Force Acolytes Kappa 9.

That sound’s about right.

First Mission:

Just finished with the first interrogation. Had to make sure they got the full story outta
me. No detail left out. Shit. I’ll give Voltmourne one thing. He’s thorough. They sat me down in a
room that looked like a torture chamber. Sharp things, pointy things, tubes, needles. I shudder
rememberin’ it all. He didn’t use em’ all. Only a couple. And a psyker too, just to double check
his work. That fucker dicked with my head somehow. Bastid did somethin. I don’t feel safe n’ my
own skin no more, bleck, and my head, sweet Emprah - I shudder to think about it. But here we
go, the story, fer posterity’s sake.

Mission started. Me and a coupla others hopped on a ship headed for “the drop point”.
I’d love to be more specific but, shit, I don’t think I was ever told. It was a hive. Densely
populated, tall buildin’s, the works.

On the ship, was: Myself, with only my shotgun, a laspistol, a flak vest and the skull a’
my baby (and my beatin’ stick); A preacher, Pious Augustus, a thin little man covered in what
looked like burn scars or somethin, but he don’t like he’d seen a decent day in a decent fight; A
bolta bitch, Canta, clad in some pretty snappy armor, packin a decent arsenal, always hummin’
somethin; and our Inquisitor, Voltmourne, a dark-skinned, jowlier man, with a decent number a’
scars across his face and a tuft a’ white hair on his head.

We landed amongst the hustle-n-bustle of Hive life and checked out the first stop on our
list. The “Medicae’s”. Fancy doctor’s office. But man, the moment I stepped in there, I regretted
ever becomin’ an Acolyte.

Corpses. Bodies. Cadavers. Whatever ya wanna call em. No fingers, toes, teeth, nothin.
All neatly cut up. Like a doctor did it. A good one. All laid out on the floor in little rows. Gives me
the shivers just thinkin’ about ‘em.

Then the doctor came around. All clean n’ fresh. Not like whoever butchered those poor
souls. He had a bionic eye. It had a pretty neat blue light that almost made him seem like a nice
guy. Y’know, without the bodies all ‘round.

Pious did some talkin’ with the dude, while Canta broke out some fancy writing
equipment and was takin’ notes or doin’ somethin. Iunno, she’s a weird one. For a Sister of
Battle, anyway.

I just sorta watched and waited for somethin’ interestin’ to happen. And fate didn’t hold
back. We heard some gunshots n’ some hollerin from outside.

I was first out the door, with Canta takin’ up my 6 and Pious dawdling behind.

All I remember from the incident was some lunatic, a Commissar or somethin, a lady one,
screamin’ n shootin at her own men. Shit was crazy. Well, it woulda been crazier if those same
men didn’t walk n’ talk like the livin dead. And, as we soon found out, they kinda sorta were.

Streets cleared out, a fuggin ghost town now, the smart ones headin for the hills when
Commissar...Zen? I think it was? started firin’. And naturally, Zen’s gun jammed and these
zombie-folk were still on her. And because we were close enough to her. On us too.

Then that was when I really saw my team. Their true colors. Useless is a color, right?
Because it was all over their faces.

I personally nailed a few of those goopy-zombie-troops myself, with my trusty ol’ shotgun
from the days back on the farm. Could down a family a’ Grox without needin’ a reload. Trusty ol’
girl. Meanwhile, Canta took a few shots and I thought, “Sweet Emprah, they really took the
Battle outta Battle Sisters, didn’t they?” and preacher-boy musta pissed of his gun’s spirit since
it done’ exploded the first time he took a shot. That was his battle wound. I took a good shot to
the arm myself, but at least I earned it. But that shot was all it took to make me realize “Damn.
That Bolta Bitch would make a great shield.” and stored that in the backa my head for later use.

So we saved the Loonie-ssar and went back to the doctor’s place, Pious was tellin her
all about his day or somethin on the way there.

We entered the fine establishment a’ his and I braced myself for the smell-a-death
again. And it was gone. All the bodies. Gone. No blood, no evidence. Only a half-automaton
fella cleanin the floor. Shit. Now this lady must think we’re the crazy ones.

The only place he could be is behind either: A locked door that a bullet won’t pass
through, (I tried), or down a stairway. Which is dark and really creepy. Little Miss Commissar
voted to stay upstairs and press-gang us down the stairs. How valiant. But on the way down, I
remember hearin’ a distinct scratching behind that door I tried to shoot down. Not what I wanted
to hear. And down the stairs wasn’t somethin I wanted to see.

Well, in all honesty, I couldn’t see, it was dark save for a little blue light in the dark. Like
a flame. But blue.

It was Ashur, the doctor, and told us we shouldn’t turn the lights on. He told us we
shouldn’t. And given the fact that death-smell was back, I was fine with the lights off. But
naturally that dumb-fuck of a preacher was making his way to the lights so I made with my plan
from earlier. Hide behind the beautiful-by-way-of-desperation bolta bitch and her wonderful
bulky armor.

I was prepared to shoot. Hell I cocked my shotgun and was crouched behind Canta, my
back to her calf. I was scared.

And the lights went on.

I just turned and shot. Body reactin’ before the mind could catch up. I whipped around Canta’s
pointy calves and loosed a slug at where the light was. And I missed. I was close though. Real
close.

It was Ashur and he looked like he had been badly hurt. And around us, were some
fancy medical tables with the same bodies from upstairs, one to a bed, on em. A few looked
worse than before. Mutilated still, but by a clean hand.

It’s noteworthy to say Ashur was holdin some sorta weirdly-made knife. It’ll be important
later.

Pious talked some more while I took in the scenery. Y’know, I’m glad I didn’t head
Forensics like I wanted. But hell, maybe if I did I wouldn’t be so creeped out by the stiffs on the
tables. And before I knew it, we were headed back up the stairs, and we took Blue-Eye with us.
At gunpoint.

And whaddya know, Zen, our loopy sentinel, was gone. Meanin somethin coulda just
waltz’d in that door, came down the steps and shot us in the backs and we’d be none the wiser.
Shew. But the worst thing about it? Her guns and gear were still there. She seemed a bit too
trigger-happy to be without a gun. Shew I bet she showered with her guns and dumped with her
guns and...I’ll stop there. There’s too many uses for the barrel of a gun than I’d like to picture a
woman like that utilizin’.

We ran back to the doctor’s office to find him, back upstairs, seemingly watin’ fer our
return. Weird. So Pious long-windedly told him what we’d been up to in the past 15 minutes and
that it’d also be great if he could patch up his hand. He let me explain why he needed patchin’
up. He caught a glimpse of my wound too, and I let the preacher get helped first, y’know, just in
case the doctor was a basket-case as well. Luckily fer us, he wasn’t. The fella also made
mention of how things like that don’t bleed like you n’ me. They’re different. He said they bleed
weird and needed to see Canta bleed like he saw us.

Dude was creepin me out like no tomorrow then. Canta agreed to the blood-lettin. And I
wish I didn’t have my head up my ass at the moment or I woulda jumped in to say somethin.

He gave Canta his knife. The weird one from before. She took off ‘er glove and made a
quick cut across her palm.

Before she could get a smart-word out. She collapsed.

Hit the ground like a Grox with a hangover.

And then she started to seize.

And I don’t know ‘bout ya’ll, but when one-a your friends starts shiverin n’ shudderin on
the ground, the last thing you can do is be rational. I fuggin’ snapped at the doctor and
shook ‘im til he was shakin faster than Canta was. He just pointed to where his doctor’s tools
were and I through him to the ground, didn’t care if I stepped on him between then and now,
grabbed the kit and ran back.

On the sprint back I peeled the metal case away from the supplies inside like it was a
fruit back home, and tore at the packaging of the only thing that looked like a cure in the whole
kit. A needle fulla somethin. As I burst back into the room with the resta my party, Ashur gave a
slurred holler that sounded like a bit of “Yes”, “That’s the one”, “Quick, get it in her” and “I’m
pretty sure you broke my hip when you threw me”. Pansy.

Shew, I almost tripped over my own two feet when I was clamberin’ to my knees to get
along-side Canta. And I’m sure what I did wasn’t what Ashur would call “Medically sound.” but I
jammed that fuggin’ needle in the big, throbby vein in Canta’s neck and pressed that plunger
like I was pluggin’ a leaky barrel.

She heaved and hacked, but she finally came to. Thank the powas that be. The Emprah
was watchin one-a his brides this day. Naturally, Canta and I’s collective reaction was “WHY
THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT!?!”. It’s like we were cycle-buddies.

We got Canta to her feet and she said she heard “old voices” while she was seizin’ and
writhin’ around like a bog-snake caught in a gator’s mouth. A bit weird I reckon, but we were all
yellin when she was goin down so who knows?

And before we could rip The Doctor’s stupid face off, he pointed us in the direction of
another dame he said might help us get to the bottom of those goop-soldiers.
 If memory served, we went to a church next. We went to meet another preacher.
Because Emprah knows we need another one-a their kind in our party.

Somethin bout that there Abbey didn’t sit with me well. Nope. Y’know what it was?
Guards. They had guards standin ‘round the doors to the church. Now I don’t know ‘bout ya’ll,
but back on Cyrus-Vulpa, we didn’t mix our holy places and our heavily armed. Not to say they
don’t allow weapons in church back home, since everyone and their mother’s got some kinda
firearm on them on that world.

But so when we approached the fellas at the door and asked to go in, they denied us.
And not just a “No ma’am”, it was all broken and choppy. Not like drunken choppy, but like bad
hologram choppy.

And they were sweatin.

And it wasn’t just sweat, it’s like they were sweatin clay. It’s like they were meltin on us.

One-a the fellas started thankin us for bein here to “save them” but before we could
make sense-a the situation, the other guard whipped out his Bolt Pistol and done blown the
other fellas arm clean off. But not before ol’ Canta cuts his other arm clean off, like a warm knife
through butter. Or in this here case, clay.

We proceeded to beat the Emprah’s fury into the one who shot his buddy, but sadly, we
couldn’t do anythin to save the other fella who got his arm blown off for askin fer help. Pious
prayed to the Emperor and we went inside.

And then, shit done got real.

In retrospect, I wish we had found the little lady-preacher we were sent to find. Instead,
we found somethin straight out of H.P. Warpcraft.

We entered the chapel. Today was not my day for enterin’ nice buildin’s.

The walls were alive. Well here, I’ll steal somethin from Pious’ journal for how it looked.
He’s wordsier than I am:

The doors open with a creak, as if the hinges have been rubbed down with mud. The interior is
horrendous, it was clearly not meant for mortal eyes; it'd be dark if not for burning tapestries that had caught
fire from fallen candle-posts. What was once an elaborate room, sanctioned by the Ecclesiarchy for his holy
majesty, The God-Emperor's worship; is now tarnished by the hand of the alien. The ground is covered in a
semi-vicousious sludge that writhes as if it's sentient. Corpses line the floor, being melded with and propped
about by hands of sludge into forming "living things". We saw Major Zen being flayed alive by the substance,
crawling into her mouth and popping out her eyes before enveloping her and dragging her into the sludge.
 In the far back of the room, most blasphemous of all, and staring at us all with a single, large,
unblinking red eye; is the creature. A hive mother, a brooder, a beast in heat and bent on devouring the bodies
of man. There is no proper word in the tongues of the Imperium for this monstrosity. It sits atop a statue that
has fallen, one made in the image of the Emperor. I have this horrible feeling that it's smiling at me. That it's
laughing at me. That it knows something I don't know. And that it is already too late to save anyone.

It lurches forward a little, a twisted female visage being pulled over the large red eye. The pupil, black
and yellow, switches from socket to socket. And it is smiling, but with a mouth that drips with slime and
blood. A ripple in the sludge reaches the corpse of the Major, bringing it up from the ground like some twisted
marionette. "You." It says. "You. Were not. Here. Not as planned. Not as. Told."

"Mansflesh." It says, there is almost some horrific form of jubilation in it's 'voice'. "Inquisitor. That is a
word. She. Knows. I know. You will. Serve." Mariasha's jaw is half broken off her face and dripping with the
waxy goop. And as she talks, it's a horrendous sight.

As annoying as that man is, he’s got a gift for words, I’ll give ‘im that. But boy-howdy, we
hauled our asses outta that chapel faster than any land-vehicle could take us.

I’d like to note that gettin from the Abbey to the Medicae was a lot easier than it shoulda
been. Didn’t see a soul. Not a single lady or fella to block our way. It’s like the little critters back
on Cyrus-Vulpa: The closer the storm, the farther the critters.

And Emprah-have-mercy, there isn’t once today where enterin a buildin didn’t gross us
out or threaten our lives and tradition held true this time.

And there he was, just sittin on the steps, Ashur, covered in blood and what not. Still
livin, though he popped his creepy bionic-blue-eye out this time, special for us. We were
honored. And behind the eye wasn’t just y’know, socket or tissue or even blood, nope, just a
weird sorta haze around the hole. And in the other hand was that weird seizure-inducing knife.
Looked like he was about to propose to that thing when we walked in.

Him and Pious threw down, verbally of course and the good doctor didn’t turn out to
be a good doctor at all. He started mentioning a Rogue Trader named Algernon and being in
leagues with him, he started mentioning the weird alien things, it’s like he was a man about to
die confessin his sins to the Emprah with hopes of salvation.

Mind you, he still admitted to bein unruly folk. A heretic. And sayin he had some part
in whats turned this place upside down. And when Pious started bringing up the guards, the
townsfolk, the children, hell I started gettin mad.

The doctor was bein’ pretty vague. More vague than I think Pious liked. So I helped.

I put my shotgun to his forehead. And hell, I still remember his exact words.
 "I am not the one who was judge. I was merely executioner. Anonymous. My role was
determined by greater things than I, my purpose was to follow suit. And I did." He lit up a
smoke. “I am allegedly happy enough to be so enlightened as to find joy in such a purpose.
Grim as it may be to you.” He took a drag. The smoke came out his nose, his eye-hole and hell,
even the cuts on his body. "It didn't all go as planned, but I played my part to the best of my
abilities. I will die, a happy man. As happy as I can be."

In the words-a my mother “What the fucking fuck.” He didn’t even feel bad about anythin.
That warp-junk, xeno-shit, whatever musta been in him for a long time if he wasn’t even human
enough to feel bad about the innocent folk he killed. The children. Shew, I was ready to pull the
trigger right then and there.

But I waited. I looked back at Pious for the signal. He nodded. Close enough to a signal,
I figured.

Ka-blam. Ashur’s head now had enough room for me to put my arm through, hoist him
onto my shoulder and use his body as a tote bag. I didn’t, but I could’ve.

Weirdest thing though. After the gun went off we heard somethin. Somethin from the
vents. Scratchin. Then shriekin. Personally, I wanted to go check it out, but by the time I
reloaded, Pious was screamin’ over the noise and runnin in the opposite direction.

Clerics. Can’t live with em, can’t live without-well...we could, but I’d rather not be the
talker. And I doubt little-miss-notebook over there wouldn’t like to socialize any more than she’d
like to eat bees. Which isn’t fun. Personal experience. Short story: Rex is a sonuvabitch and
bees ain’t filled with no honey. Only stingers.

So when we all regroup outside the late docta’s office, we have a group huddle and
decide we need to call in the big guns and get that place nuked. And naturally, the best way to
call in the heavies would be with a voxcaster or somethin along those lines. And naturally we’re
in a place that doens’t like too much communication with the outside world n all. And naturally
the place we are is pretty damn holy, Canta having grown up there n’ all. So naturally the only
voxcaster for miles and miles happens to be in that Abbey. Whoop-de-fuggin-doo.

We headed back, against our better judgement, mind you. That bein’ said n’ all, we
let Pious take the lead so if anythin’ bad happened, Bolta Bitch n I would at least have a few
seconds notice.

And there they were. Those guards-fellas still layin there, not like they had much else to
do, I know, but still, it’s nice to know whatevers in that Abbey didn’t gobble them up whole. Well,
whole minus an arm or two. Ya’ll know what I mean.

Anywho, Pious got to his accustomed position, his knees, and started rifling through the
poor souls’ corpses. A little lady like myself finds the idea a lil’ skeevy, but y’know what they
say “Waste not, want not.” That being said, when I started to hear the squishin of Pious’ grubby
little preacher’s hands sloshin’ around the clay bits and the pulpy parts, I had to avert my eyes
for a quick second. So I looked up towards the heavens, thinkin’ about what my Zerks would
say if he saw me now; His lil’ sugarblossom takin’ lives, solvin crimes n’ punishin the wicked.

And then SPLAT! Right on my forehead. Normally, I’d blame the foul fowls fer the gift my
forehead hath received and then I reckoned “...There ain’t no fowls ‘round these parts...” and
focused my gaze.

Top wind-a. Stained glass. Somethin’ red n’ pulsatin’s drippin’ from the-OH LORDY ITS
THE THING. I shook like a dog-gone-through-bogwater. The bloody-drippy-thumpin-mass flew
off my forehead but dammit, no matter how hard I shook, no matter how I angled myself, I still
felt it there. On me. In me. Shee-it.

My panic-dance seemed to grab the party’s attention. They made the connection when
they saw a few more drips from that dang window. When I was done trying to shed my forehead
from my body, I whipped out the ol’ shotty and took aim at the window, just in time to see a
humanoid-human-lookin thing tap on the glass. Mockin me. Mocking me.

You best believe I shot at that thing that done mocked me.

Direct hit, glass, blood, goop everywhere. The thing got knocked back.

Pious, finally growin a brain in all that hair-a-his, just grabs a gun from the damned guard
and fires at the same thing in the same window. It’s a Emprah-damned bolter. I forgot all about
it.

Fire. Fire juts from the window, knockin out even more glass and that thing screams. It
screams a scream that chills ya right to the bone. It ain’t human, it ain’t animal, it ain’t natural. It
just ain’t natural.

Now this thing’s gettin smart, it ain’t about to take no more-a-that priest’s shit no more.
The chapel doors fly open and a little-girl-that-aint-no-little-girl starts callin to us.

As if it were second nature, Canta puts herself between me and the little-girl-that-ain’t-
no-little-girl, leavin’ Pious high n’ dry.

Girl power.

Canta fires a few rounds with her las into the open door, tryin’ draw it’s stupid-ass out.

And whaddya know? it worked.

 The girl-thing pops out.

CLICK-BANG!

I fired. Hit that bitch right in the face. It screamed that scream again.

Pious shut it up.

Pious unleashed a barrage of prolly-not-aimed explosive bolts at the she-creature and

the chapel itself.

It hit. It hit hard.

The chapel started burnin. Not just any sorta candle-fallin-over fire. Nope. It started
collapsin in a pile of holy stone. That thing screamin’ the whole time. And then it hit us.

The voxcaster’s still in there.

Shit.

Against any sorta survival instinct or real reasonin’ we rushed inside, Canta leadin’ the
way, myself in middle and Pious, his nervous-face plastered on.

The buildin burned. The creature screamed. The buildin’ was collapsin. And Canta was
leading us into a basement. Honestly? Prolly not the best place ta be in this scenario, but I’ll
trust her. Bein’ my human shield n all.

We practically fell down a stone staircase but made it to the comm-room. Oh thank The
Emprah above. Pious and I ran like hell to sign in and start makin our get-away calls, resultin’ in
a very surprised Voltmourne comin on screen, only to be greeted by two blood-drenched small-
folk, screamin n wavin while the fires’ ragin’ and the thing’s screamin.

I backed off for the moment, talkin’ is Pious’ job anyway. He rang for backup, evac and
clean up.

Long story short, evac team picked us up, rushed us outside, got us onto the ship we
came here on and we were still close enough ta feel the heat of the blast that destroyed the
Abbey and the surroundin’ area.

We got back and the interrogation started. I mentioned that already.

Good news? 1000 Gold Thrones and a promotion. One-Thousan’ Gold Thrones n’ a
promotion to Regulator. That’s two promotions in one.
 Suck it Rex. Suck. It.

Purchases n’ Damage Report:

Spent the money already. It’s been only a few days an’ its already gone. Mind ya, I didn’t
just blow it all on hookers n’ amasec, but I put it to fair use. Armor. Carapace. Almost a full set
too! All thas left is a helmet. Somethin every soldier learns they need early on, ‘cept this one
apparently. Shew, it ain’t like I wasted it. Sure, I coulda bought-a helmet but I picked me up a
micro bead instead. It’s also worth mentionin I picked up a Hand Flamer and Shock Maul. Hand
flamer ‘cause: the next time I see anythin like that goopy-sonuvabitch, I’ma roast em. Shock
Maul ‘cause I’m an Arbite. Unwritten standards. You know.

After what happened in that last place, Schola-somethin, learn’d the name after the fact,
I never wanna be without commuincatin’ to the outside world ever again.

But now fer the less happy side-a this entry. That damn feelin’ on my forehead.

Hasn’t gone away, man, I can still feel it, like it’s under the skin n’ it won’t leave me alone
man. I’ll see what can be done about it, but until then I’ll wander around a bit, get my bearins.
City-life ain’t nothin like agri-life, shew, all the hustle n’ bustle, gangers, criminals, preachers on
every corner. Crazy, man, crazy.

Doctor’s n’ Discoveries:

Well, I saw the medicae today, our medicae, about that feelin under my skin. Fella told
me to wear it as a badge-a-honor. Fightin’ the good fight against them xenos-warp-things or
whatever. But shew, it was drivin me crazy.

He dismissed me. It wasn’t like he didn’t care or anythin, he just didn’t know whatta do
about it. Said it was probably nothin, just a skin irritation caused by that thing.

But that night, I went and tried a couple-a things. Wet rags, pain-killas, hell even cuttin’ a
little bit off the top. Nothin. So I just put my head to a dang wall and was bout-ta give up, and
then...I didn’t feel it. Nothin. The wrigglin’ n jigglin’. Gone. The moment I took my head offa the
wall, bang, like a wave, it came back.

So I smacked my forehead into the wall again. Gone. Took it away. Wrigglin’. Off. Gone.
On. Wrigglin’. I done gotten idea!

On the way to the medicae’s now. It’s a decent walk. Gives me time to write.

The New Look:

 Well, I did it. I done gotta steel plate bolted to my forehead. Wrigglins’ are gone n’ it’s a
bitch to move my brows, but I’ll manage.

The plate’s a sorta triangle, point facin’ down, but with the otha sides squared off. So it’s
more of a...an upsigh-down pentagon sorta? It’s somewhere ‘tween the two. Y’all can picture it
I’m sure.

Canta came to see me durin’ recovery. Strange, I know! Her visit seemed just as much
as a learn’ ‘sperience as it did friendly droppin-in’. Jottin down things I said about why I went
and done it, what it felt like, why I thought this was the best option. Shew, I was jus’ still in shock
she came to visit. She didn’t seem like the social-sort.

We went out for drinks later. Well, I drank, Canta just sorta got what I got and broke out
a lil’ kit-a-somethin, some strips n’ such, and tested the drink first. Then went-n’ ordered a
couple more drinks, different ones, n’ tested them too. Shew if we didn’t just get paid she might
gone broke buyin’ all those drinks. Not that she drank em’ er anythin.

But all-n’-all, it was a decent evenin out, just-the-girls. A bit quiet, a bit entertainin’, the
dame’s probably a shut-in-mental-case but I like ‘er, I like ‘er.

Second Mission pt.1:

Easiest. Mission. Ever. Let me tell you. We’re on our way back ta base to drop off our
catch before turnin round and gettin the other one.

Right, lemme fill ya’ll in.

Day started as usual, get up, bathe, dress, walk round fer a spell, and then we get a
message from Voltmourne sayin he’s got another job fer us all, a follow-up of sorts.

We gather in his office, the old gang’s all here. Canta n’ I have seen each other a decent
amount since our first mission. Bars mostly. But I ain’t seen Pious since. Thought he was dead.

Oh well. We can dream.

So, basic mission run-down. Algernon, that Rogue Trade-a the doctor, the one-eye’d
one, Ashur, mentioned is dock’d here on Gunmetal City n’ Voltmourne’s been doin errythin in
his power to keep it that way, but now he needs evidence. That’s our job.

Two men is all he needs, and he’s got the where-abouts for em both, savin’ us the time
n’ effort. First man “Argyle”: mutant, hunchback, possible-heretic with a loud mouth, and he’s a
preacher. That last bit’s good enough to shoot em dead in my mind. Second fella “Boondoggle”:
gladiator, undefeated, sounds like a hard sonuvabitch.
 We were dismissed and took a group vote of who to pursue first. Unanimous decision:
Argyle. Weird, huh? Ya think I’d pick the fighter first, right? Well I figure there may be a mid-job-
Throne-bonus if we brought him in first. There wasn’t. But shew at least we got one down.

We landed in a crowd-a folk, fanatics really, all swarmed around some fella on a box,
preachin’ n carryin’ on. It was the lower hives, which I’d learn’d had a ton-a these box-
preachers. Luckily for us and our feet, this was the fella.

Uglier in person really. Hunchback’d, spine showin, face lookin’ all sad, Aquila tattoo
where my steel-plate was. Weird thing though, he had a staff n’ on that staff was a fella, n’ not
just any fella, one of those clay fellas. That had me reachin fer my weapons.

Pious was the one to actually grow a pair and call-out this Argyle-dude. In fronna
everyone. A crowd-a-folk who supported this Argyle n’ his beliefs. Personally, I call “stupidity”
ova “bravery” in this case. That bein’ said, the argument got heated. Religious mumbo-jumbo,
fine-a details of the sacred scripture n’ such.

As the crowd started closin’ in, Canta n’ I assumed our positions, me doggin’ her calves,
crouched, but with my new Hand Flama at the ready. Parta me just wanted to take a test-shot,
y’know, clear out the crazies in the lower hives. But I held my trigga.

And just when it seemed like Canta’s fiery zeal and my fiery...fire would be needed, it
was over. It was over.

Through words n’ words alone, Pious got this big fella on his knees. Shit.

So we gave him a standard Deatrix-gun-to-the-back escort back to the ship where we

safely dropped him off as Voltmourne’s feet.

And like I said: No mid-job-Throne-bonus. Aw well. Colosseum time.

Second Mission pt.2:

Second part of our second mission. It-it didn’t go so well. Our target, “Boondoggle”
known as “The Oculous” around those parts was taken down. Killed. So mission complete.

But the fuggin cost to do so...I don’t even wanna talk about the cost. What that thing,
that fucker put us through to take him down. The only good parta all this bein’ Voltmourne trusts
us enough to tell the fuggin’ truth, the whole truth and nothin’ but the truth. Without the torture
machines.

Here, I’ll just shut up and start tellin the mission:

 Overconfident from our quick capture of Argyle, we sped to the Colosseum, figuring
this “Boondoggle” fellow wasn’t any tougher. It never once hit us that you don’t stay undefeated
by dyin’ a whole lot.

We landed and were greeted by a short, little pumpkin of a man who assumed we were
here to drop a few thrones as bets on the fight, so he was pretty shocked that an Arbite, a
priest, and a woman who looked like she spent more time in a library than a shooting range,
wanted to fight this “Oculous” fella.

We saw him rip apart dudes on the holo-screen above the stadium. Masked. Probably to
avoid all the attention or vengeance-seekers after the match, I figured. Probably.

The battle wasn’t tournament-ian, so we just sorta picked who we wanted to fight and
were pitted up against ‘em like that. Convenient. Yeah. Sure.

We were lead into a sorta waitin’ room area, ringside but more under the ring. It was just
mostly a bench, a small cache-a extra weapons and a few beatin-dummies. Then the screen
came down.

We saw this fella. Black skin. Maybe burnt black. Tentacle tattoos on his neck and the
edges of his mask. The mask only had one large eye-hole, covered, no mouth’r’anythin. A bit
weird. Didn’t know they made masks like that. But mind you, we saw him on a screen that
dropped down in fronna us. He saw us too.

We exchanged some harsh words. Fightin’ words. And the screens went up, the gates to
the ring opened and we were walkin’ out to the ring before we heard the screens set themselves
back into place.

I got that sorta effect you get from goin’ from a really dark place to a really bright one.
Spotlights all around, crowd cheerin, cheerin fer him actually. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like bein
the underdog from the start, so I hamm’d it up a bit. Death threats, sayin I’d turn this fella inta a
pair-a-boots, size 9, my size. Pious also threw somethin in, and as expected, Canta was silent.
At this point we all had hands on our weapons, cept myself. I had my Shock Maul drawn and
pointed at the fella, proclaimin his doom.

The battle starts. We run for cover. There’s a few chest-high-walls to hide behind.

Pious shot first. And shit, I’ve actually gotta praise the little hiver for it. He shot good.

While he was runnin’ his holy ass ta cover, he loosed some quick warnin’ fire that
actually turned into tellin’ fire. 4 hits with his auto-pistol. Dead on.

First gottim in the shoulder. Secon’ nailed cracked his stupid-ass helmet and threw ‘im
off balance. Teach that dope whose boss ‘round these parts. Third, right through his fancy-
schmancy body-armor. Pinkish-reddish junk shot out. Huh. That aint blood...Fort’ shot nailed
one-a that fuckers grenades on his band-a-lier. Gas. Smoke. Posion started shootin’ out.

Ain’t never been prowda that preacher before, but thin’s just might start changin’.

And then, from the smoke, like a fuggin’ ragin’ cheetah, burstin’ from the tall grasses to
chase down it’s prey, “The Oculous” show’d is true colors.

Purple, mainly. From a distance, terrifying. He’d either taken his dumb mask off in the
smoke or it finally broke off, but y’know, now I wish it didn’t.

As it ran to’wad the preacher, I gotta betta look at ‘im. Daemon fer sure. Neva saw one
til’ this day, but it fit the stories ya tell children who like ta wander round the fields at night. “A
daemon’ll eatcha up n’ leave the bones.” This fella looked like he wouldn’t even give ya that
mercy. Large black eyes, like fuggin’ miniature voids with beady white pupils; skin lookin’ all
dead, purple n flayed; throbbin’ veins and a mouth that looked more like like Auntie Cree’s knife
drawer than a mouth fulla-teeth.

Now was when I’d step in for the preacher. First time I think. And shew, now I wonder
why I did. He was gettin’ closer. He’d hafta pass me to get to Pious, and my Shock Maul was
already out from that doom proclaimin’ I did before the fight. So I reel’d back and swung at that
dumb, inbred, revoltin’ hog-face’d fucker with all I had in me.

It was like it was happenin’ in slow motion.

A tongue tha size-uva workin’ man’s arm whipp’d outta it’s knife-drawa mouth.

It caught the swing. It caught the Shock Maul. In it’s tongue.

Then, without missin’ a beat. It looked into my eyes. Into my very Emprah-damn’d bein.

What I saw next is the same thing that I keep dreamin’ bout since. Nightmares. Haven’t
been able to shake em, so this next bit’s gonna be reaaalll accurate.

I saw Zerks. Good ol’ Zerks. Hadn’t seen him so clearly in foreva it seem’d. So I walk’d
towards him, arms out, walkin’ turnin’ to runnin’ and just before I got ta hug my man one more
time, razors. Thousands of em poke’d their way out. Still in him, mind ya, who knows how deep
they went. But then, they all move. SLASH. He’s a million, million pieces. Blood everywhere. I
start cryin’ from seein my man be subject to such pain. Then, shew, then I’m in my own sorta
pain.

My baby. My real one. The still-born. I could suddenly feel ‘im kickin round inside me.
The kickin’ gets worse and worse and fasta and fasta until it just bursts outta me like an Emprah-
damn’d shotgun. Oh Emprah. Emprah I’ve ain’t never felt so much pain in mah life, eva.
 Then...then the bits-a-baby start formin’ to make somethin. Congealin’s the right word.
The clay-gelatin bits make an unholy lil’ blob. The blob starts makin’ its way towards me. Still
the size-a two-a my fists put togetha, but I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed.

It was gettin closer n’ closer. Made it way ta my feet. And I realized “Shew, I ain’t got any
clothes on”, so when the thing started slitherin’ up my leg. I felt it. I felt it like the fuggin’ thing
that dripped on mah forehead. It kept travelin upward, bein’ sure to hit places only my Zerks
could hit. It kept on goin, up my body. Felt as fragile n’ as helpless as a baby bird wit a broken
wing. It made it’s way to my throat n’ chin’ n’ face n’ mouth. Somuva it lodged itself up mah nose
and the rest shoved it’s way down my wind pipe n’ just sat there. Expandin’. It was chokin me.
My baby. What was my baby was chokin’ me. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

I woke up in the medicae. The one back in our base. On a medical bed. People ova me.
Doctors, nurses, other fellas pokin’ n proddin me with whateva they seemed to find. Takin’
samples n’ takin’ fluids. Cuttin lil’ bits, usin’ needles to get others. It felt wrong. So
fundamentalleh wrong. Sure, it was just a routine post-mission checkup, but now...now it just felt
like they were stealin’ from me. Doctors, nurses, the lotta them. Stealin’ from me.

I remember pushin’ everyone aside, or at least tryin’ and tryina take out everythin’ they
had in me. They put a mask over ma mouth n I was down again.

Woke up again, mah own bed this time. Canta had visited. How do I know? She leffa
copy of a bitta her own personal logs for me to stick in mine. I figure it’s from the time that thing
gave me visions to the present day.

It reads:

“A daemon. Anger unfurling, then all consuming. With all the anger of the Emperor, I attacked.
I felt unstoppable. “BURN THE HERETIC! PURGE THE UNCLEAN!” I speared it as deeply in it’s
chest as possible, then again in it’s filthy, Chaos tainted mouth. It came back up, threw me aside, charged
Pious...Did something to them both. Dear Deatrix. Poor Pious. If anything could anger me further, it was
seeing them hurt. My mission was to protect them, shield them.

I failed them both that day, much to my shame. And that daemon was the cause. With all the rage given
me by the Emperor and his righteous power, I charged him one last time. Never has such a horrid smell
seemed so delicious.

When I calmed down, I went to Pious first, since he was bleeding out. Why do those in pain wish to
thrash and make things worse? Still, I’m glad he could hear me scold him and calm down. Deatrix...was
beyond hearing. I used her microbead to call Voltmourne and then waited, trying to soothe my friends to
help at last arrived.”

So Canta save’d us, huh? Quiet, ol’ Canta. Bookworm n’ anti-socialite. Shew. That last
mission was just riddl’d with the unesspected.

Fillin’ in the Gaps:

Well, in tha time since I woke up, here’s what I’ve pieced together. I’ve been promoted to
Investigator and got 500 Thrones put in my account. Both of which I’m completely fine with.
Canta’s been deem’d a “Champion” and got some newer, fancier powa-armor for it, along with a
fuggin chainsword and a re-gilded, polished staff with the skull-a “The Oculous” mounted on it
along with the ol’ symbol of the Eccleisiarchy. And Pious gotta new arm. Bionic. He’s replace’d
more than just the hand lost in the fight with the daemon. Which he described as pretty dang
brutal:
“Its arms shifted into tentacled claws that sucked the blade into some natural armament. It tackles me and
holds my throat to the ground, blade raised in the air. The Daemon's face then takes the form of my own visage and
smiles wickedly. "Mortal. Dream. Dream of dark, beautiful things. Dark beautiful things that are the destiny of this
world." The daemon's face then melts into a series of ooze-like droplets and it stabs the blade deep into my right wrist,
twisting and severing the hand.”

We’re all goin’ out for drinks tonight. Celebratory n’ such.

All bein’ Canta n’ I, n’ Pious musta figured he was one-a the girls n’ invited himself. What
can I say? He shot that daemon better than I did, he deserves a drink.

The Afterparty:

The night out went...different. N’ that’s to say the least. I personally can barely
remember a thing ‘cause that bartenda wasn’t about to make all them drinks a secon’ time so
Canta can play scientist n’ leave em for him to clean up.

We also discovud that Pious’s a sad drunk. Afta a few drinks he was goin’ on n’ on about
not bein pure no more since that daemon attack. And shew, in fronna everyone, whipped out
one-a them Electro-flails from his new bionic arm n’ start’d whippin himself fer everyone ta see.
Hopefully, all that was wuz a bad reaction to a lotta drinkin. Hopefully.

And from what I can piece togetha, Canta touched me. A pat on tha back er’ somethin’
and shew all the feelin’s I felt durin’ that vision n’ my nightmares came back. At once.

That Emprah-damned daemon did somethin’ to me. Fucked wit me somehow. And
Emprah-be-damn’d if I don’t go n’ do somethin ‘bout it.

Human ‘Speriment:

I turned mahself into a lab ‘speriment. By my own choice, mind ya. Canta bein’ the
scientist r’ the closest thin’ to one n’ the only other lady I’m conversational with. If ya wanna call
it conversation.
 We tried a coupla things. The idea was to see if we could, in her words “Replicate the
previous sensations felt during the sleep-or-touch induced psychosis-episodes to determine if
the sensations are derived from rearranged nerve clusters or you’re pants-on-head crazy.”

We tried sharp thin’s, dull thin’s, hot thin’s n’ cold thin’s. ‘Lectricity, fire, cottons, silks,
acids. N’ this was everywhere on my dang body. Hence, why I’d prefer if another propa lady did
it.

Found out somethin from it all though, somethin besides the fact Canta’s perfectly fine
seein me in the nude. The weird feelins I got from bein touched were spreadin’. The more I got
touched, the more-a my body the feelin’s got to. It’s like it was expandin’, spreadin’ out with
each touch, increasin’ in’ skeevyness n’ pain. Like lil’ critters runnin’ around under my skin,
burrowin’ n stoppin’ n’ startin by their own will.

I’m off to the medicae to go do somethin’ bout this all.

Tech-Priests r’ Nice-a than Doctors:

It’s funneh when the doctor starts with “Back to get a bigger head-plate?”, jokingly a-
course’ and you’re respon’ with a serious “Yes.”

It took some convincin’ from the doctor, but the wanderin’ tech-priests that can’t keep
their noses, er lack-a-noses, outta anythin fer too long helped me strong-arm the doctor inta
praceedin’ with the operation. Hell, I even think they helped.

Like I said afore’, I got my head-plate taken off and a bigger one, more of a mask with
one-way-mirrah eyes n’ a series-a-slits fer a mouth. Number-a-reason’s really. My face’s one-a
my most fragile places, usually bein’ unarmored n all, and I figure I’m tryina cover every incha
skin I can to stop that dang feelin’ from creepin’ any farther than it oughtta.

Then here’s where I spent the big money, and it’s why I’m thankful I’m workin’ under
Voltmourne. Fella loves bionics, meanin’ tech-fellas love him, meanin’ they do bionic
replacements fer cheap, usually just the costa the parts n’ junk. They seem happy
just “convertin’ “ people’s fleshy, organ-filled bodies to the heap-a metal, bolts, wires, n’ tubes
their bodies are becomin’.

So yeah, doctor lopped off my right arm, my gunnin’ arm, n’ the techies replaced it with a
fancy-schmancy new bionic one. Why my gun arm of all arms? Well I figured that I can always
throw a coupla more upgrades on it. Targettin’ things, ammo-holders, maybe an ammo-feeder,
neat things.

Though I admit, it takes some gettin’ used to afta-all, so I’ve been hittin’ the gun range
nearly all-a my wakin’ hours n’ve got the standud “2 week adjus’ment period” down to about 4 a’
5 days.

Personally, I’d ratha not lop off anythin’ else fer now, despite how helpful havin’ lessa
this infected skin would be, but shew, if I come inta money soon, mad money, I just might get
tha legs done as well. It’d be a loss to my potential table-dancin’ days, but right now I’d prefer if
no fella, or lady fer that matter, touched mah gams.

Bad Thoughts:

I’d realized somethin that daemon took without me even noticin’ til I thought bout it.
Somethin’ no one fella can see on the surface. Somethin deepa. This fuggin affliction.

I can’t...I can’t enjoy the touchuva ‘nother human. Eva. No mo’ high-fives, r’ hand-holdin’,
r’ lap-sittin’, r’ arms-ova-the-shouldas...no mo’ intimiate contact. No mo’ lova’s. Hell I can’t even
bathe without feelin’ it spreadin.

Shit. Emprah-fuggin-shit. I dunno if this’ll ever go away. Doubt it.

I’m wearin’ a void-suit ‘round more these days. It ain’t mine so I gotta give it back to the
crew-man when he needs it, then I start jus’ wearin’ jumpsuits. Anythin that covas everythin.

‘Cept my hair. I still love my hair. Reminds me n’ everyone else I’m still a regula gal
behind the mask n’ the arm.

Argyle’s Interrogation:

For one reason or another, the Argyle fella, the preachy mutant we captured without a
fight, hadn’t been questioned yet about a lot yet. Voltmourne, bein’ the actually generous
gentlemen he is let us interrogate the mutant on his behalf. He trust’d we’d ask the right
questions n’ get what we came for. Meanin’ he counted on Pious ta ask, Canta ta record, n’ me
to sit on my hands n’ watch. That’s a good’n.

We entered n’ there he was, hook’d up to a machine, thin’s goin’ in-n-outta him, lookin’
like he’d been roughed up a bit already. Shew, it madeja almost feel sorry for the fella. N’ then
Pious started askin’ questions.

I took point bahind the mutant, shotgun to his head, talkin’ tough shit despite the fact
that, hell, I was just dilly-dallyin’ around until someone gave the orda ta shoot. Though a few bits
n’ pieces of the interrogation stuck.

Algernon’s a bad fella witha lotta connections. Ashur was workin’ fer him. Rex may r’
may-not-be kidnapped, tha fuggin’ dumbass. There’s some sorta xenos involved, an Eldar r’
somethin. N’ there’s an implication that those goopy-shits r’ comin’ from Algernon’s ship.
 At least I know who-ta start aimin’ my fury at. Algernon. If that rat-bastard’s behind any-a
the shit that’s makin’ me mask up, cover up, n’ start loppin off limbs, fuck duty, I’ma skin his
stupid ass n’ make him into a cape.

MIDMISSION REPORT:

ON LANDER HEADED TO NEW DROP POINT. MAKE THIS QUICK.

ALGERNON CONFIRMED BAD DUDE. DAEMONS. 2 OF EM. REX GONE.

ALGERNON’S DAUGHTERS. IM DECAYING. OUTSIDE OR INSIDE, CANT TELL.
VOLTMOURNE DEAD. NEW ONE, AGNI. CRAZY BITCH, POSSIBLE
OBLATIONIST. ‘LECTRIC CHAIRS. ARMORY. FLYING TO NEXT MISSION.