so lonely ; A;

Saturday, September 18, 2010

PART OF A STORY ABOUT 40K THAT I STARTED WRITING: PART 1: Lady with dumb name gets shot.

++19:13, 143.M42, Emperor's Day Eve. Hatred IV, Fearborn Hive, Upper Hive, Northwestern Markan District, Stairs Leading to Fearborn Cathedral. High Humidity, Dimmed Sky-Lights, slightly cooled central temperature to emulate the winter on Holy Terra on this holy day. Heightened Security Protocols, General Alarms raised, citizens recommended to return to their homes.++

++Thought of the day: Emperor-Damned Clusterfrak.++

Hortense Klavios stumbled her way down the steps of the burning cathedral, wounded leg barely functioning as blood drooled it's way down the stricken appendage. The Toksaurbo Pattern Lasrifle in her hands was out of charge, completely useless, save the possible application of a blunt weapon to crack a few skulls.

A static-spouting commbead in her ear buzzed angrily like a cornered Wither-Wasp, having lost contact to Orville during the scuffle she just ran from in the Cathedral. As she looked around frantically at the street in front of her for support, she spots a black painted civilian wheeled transport screech around a corner, leaving a black skid mark of burnt rubber.

Hortense continued down the extravagantly long stairs towards the street, even as she heard iron-shod boots clanging their way out of the cathedral doors, propelled by the masked mutant insurgents that had ambushed her. Just before she touched down on the landing to the last fleet of stairs, a slug from a poorly made but undeniably deadly handgun slammed into her back, flooding Hortense's mind with pain.

Pushed by the force of the heavy slug and her legs unwilling to work under the duress, Hortense tumbles painfully down the marble staircase, landing with an unceremonious thud on the rockrete sidewalk. A centimeter from passing out, she feels a hand on her shoulder, forcefully pulling her into the black vehicle. Lasbolts fly from a laspistol held by one of her compatriots, hitting a mutant in the chest. Smiling even while flooded with pain, Hortense is finally pulled into the vehicle, the door slamming behind her. Voices shout, their words indistinct, and soon they are away. As the Solid Projectile rounds cease to ricochet off the vehicle, Hortense blacks out.

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