Hi Guys, after a year-long hiatus from the Warhammer 40k universe, i've finally found the time to get back into the hobby. To try and get more into the game, I've decided to write some fiction for it. And so here is my first little go at a story, please leave your thoughts and opinions on it, and if it's popular, I may start a short series
The floorboard creaked as he placed his weight carefully onto it; he grimaced and tensed, waiting for the explosion of violence sure to follow. He waited, and nothing happened. The man in the chair still sat, the radio kept blurting static, and the rifle in the man’s hands kept still. Jensen could feel his partner’s eyes burning into the back of his head from the shadow of the stairwell, knowing that he would get a bollocking for the mistake. Jensen carried on, breathing slowly and steadily, moving with the patience typical of a sniper. The knife in his hand was dulled with soot, and the camo-cloak was drawn tight around his form, to knock an object over now would be bad, very bad. He was now a couple of paces from the man’s back, and he flexed his arm, ready for the kill. Nice and quiet now, don’t mess it up, you’ve been trained for this…
He sprang forwards and, covering the traitor’s mouth, stabbed the knife into the bared throat. Squeals erupted from the man, blood poured onto the dusty carpet, and the flailing feet kicked over the table. The resulting crash was enormous, at least to Jensen’s ears. Oh God-Emperor, I’ve screwed it up now...
The realisation that no one was screaming anymore and the building was quiet hit him, the blood in his veins cooled, and he relaxed. With a slight scuff of boots on wood his partner moved up beside him.
“Congratulations, you almost got both of us killed” he whispered, the layer of sarcasm was almost unbearable, and the wince on Jensen’s face was clearly visible as he replied.
“I didn’t see you jumping at the chance to help. In fact, I believe it was your turn to do it anyhow.”
Stony silence greeted the comment, and his partner moved away across the room to the window, where he looked out across the street. Three floors up, they had a perfect view of the colonnade at the front of the Basilica. He could see the crowds growing, a host of worshippers, turned out to listen to the new “Governor” himself. The planet had fallen to the Chaos worship of Slaanesh around a year ago, a government was in power, and the elections for the governor over. This man would be the leader of the people, and the orchestrator of the planet’s death. For once its resources had been used; it would become a barren wasteland. Lambs to the slaughter…
He considered the image, they didn’t know what they were getting into, they didn’t understand the evil of Chaos, and it was already too late for most of the populace. When imperial forces- if imperial forces retook the planet, it would be too late, and more likely than not, it would suffer an Exterminatus.
“Where shall I set up?” Jensen asked, joining him at the window. Jensen was a good lad, quick, sharp and brave, but he was young. This wasn’t a terrible thing, but with his youth came naivety and sometimes, overconfidence.
“About a meter in from the window, I’ll fetch the table, it’ll give us something to rest the rifle on.” He hurried over to the fallen furniture and, lifting it up, brought it to Jensen.
“Thanks…” The younger man murmured, concentrating on the swift cleaning of his Rifle. It was brand new, straight from the munitorum stores, and he had already learnt its characteristics. Once the scope was clean, Jensen looked through it to the crowds and adjusted the zoom and focus to the lectern on the platform. He practised his shot, breathing slowly until the final exhale, and pulled the trigger. The Two-stage mechanism ran smoothly and he was filled with pride for his field care. The table was in position, and so he placed the rifle on top, unfolding the bipod attached to the fore-stock. From the table he lined up the shot again and went through the motions.
“Right, that’s sorted” he said triumphantly, as he turned to face his partner. But he was no longer standing there.
“Victor?” he called softly, aware that he was still technically in an enemy building, he started to pad towards the door, keeping to the wall line, and barely breathing.
His heart froze as the barrel of a Las-rifle entered the room, followed by an enemy soldier. Too late Jensen realised the dead body of the man the soldier came to relieve was propped up in the corner. Within seconds the traitor would spot it. He pulled out his knife, and shifted his weight to his front foot, ready to pounce on the intruder. He edged forward, and so did the soldier. He sold me out! The traitorous b****rd. Well I’m not dying today, I have a job to do, and I’m going to finish it. Right, let’s do this. 3…2…1…