Brother Captain Andrecus Posted January 13, 2009 Share Posted January 13, 2009 We always hear about how Space Marines are so perfect, so un-breakable. But what about Scouts? What about a Marine who's not yet a Marine? We know that all Marines undergo phsyco-conditioning, and intensive training of the mind and the body. But what is the final test of a Scout's prowess? For one Chapter, it is being imprinted with one over-riding set of commands, then left alone in a jungle to complete that set of commands. This will show how well a potential Marine will follow orders, it will test his survival skills, and it will push him to the edge of his sanity. With that having been said, I give you: Kill. Maim. Purge. This was their mantra, this was their duty. Slaughter. Wound. Purify. This was their quest, this was their destiny. Eradicate. Mutilate. Sanitize. This was their birth-right, this was their calling. Exterminate. Weaken. Cleanse. This was their purpose, this was their battle-song. Kill. Maim. Purge. They were his instruments, he was their guide. Slaughter, Wound. Purify. They were his children, he was their leader. Eradicate. Mutilate. Sanitze. They were his servants, he was their master. Exterminate. Weaken. Cleanse. They were his Angels of Death, he was their patriarch. KILL. MAIM. PURGE. They were his Space Marines, he was their Emperor. Kill… Maim… Purge… + + + + + The Scout awoke from his trance. He did not know how long he had been asleep. He did not know how far they had taken him from the Monastery, how deep they had placed him. He knew only the Objective. Adapt, Survive, Overcome. Kill, Maim, Purge. Serve him and he shall protect thee. All these things the Scout knew. These things were a part of him. They were the things that made him. The things that would help him prevail. The things that would help him Adapt, Survive, and Overcome, Kill, Maim, and Purge. He lived only to serve, and his service brought him protection. The words were in his mind, the words that made him what he was, who he was, who he would be. An Angel of Death. A true servant, a true warrior. The mission. The Objective. It too, was there. The words would help him. Help him to accomplish the objective. Help him Adapt. Survive. Overcome. Help him Kill. Help him Maim. Help him Purge. He shook his head. He needed to move. Yes. Move. Moving would stop the infernal buzzing, the racket in his skull, the words that would not go. The words that he knew he needed but was not sure he wanted. He was resisting the treatment… Who had said that? The memory… So… So far away. It faded, washed into nothingness by a tide of words. Words he knew he needed but was not sure he wanted. Kill. Yes. The first one. Kill. He arose from the ground, stretched, and then ran, his feet pounding over the wet grass, his cold body warming with the exercise. It felt good to move. Moving stopped the buzzing, reduced it to a single, undeniable thread of clattering mind-noise, which seemed to pull him towards something. And he cared not what that something was. He only ran. He moved. Kill. Yes. That was it. + + + + + He was getting closer. He could feel it. Leaves whipped against his face, his bare arms. Mist and rain and dew clung to him as he moved. The mind-noise grew stronger, more powerful. Every second, as he drew closer, it grew in strength. He could FEEL it. Suddenly, he crouched, stopping. His run was at an end, now it was time to move slowly, quietly. Adapt. Yes, adapt. His hearing, augmented by the Lyman’s Ear, picked out every sound and filtered it. His eyes, super-sharp thanks to the Occulobe recently implanted in him, picked out details in the low-light. There. There it was… A creature… A large, sinuous creature. It was moving, out of the darkness. It was still unaware of the human watching it, for his smell had been washed off by the rain and the mist and the dew. The creature sniffed at the air, its feline face pointed towards the sky above. The tiny patch in the foliage let only a little light through, and that was dimmed by the mist and the clouds, but the Scout who watched the beast could tell easily that this was a predator, a born killer. A ruler of the jungle. A master of the hunt… He watched it as it stretched in the light, it was still tired. Now was the time to strike. Kill. Yes. Now. KILL NOW! The Scout leapt from the cover of the underbrush, his tightly muscled legs propelling him into the clearing. He slammed into the giant feline predator, his arms wrapping around its middle. It spun, snarling, roaring, scratching. Its claws were long, easily six inches. It took a gouge out of the Scout’s face, but he held on, squeezing the breath from its massive lungs. It continued to writhe, slashing him again and again and again, until he finally caught it around its massive, muscled neck. He twisted its head and yanked back. Its neck snapped, and it fell still. Kill 1. + + + + + He sat by the tiny fire, it was hardly a fire at all. The wood was so damp that it took forever for the sticks to light… But eventually, he had gotten the fire going. The dead beast’s skinned carcass was disposed of, but its largest fangs and its beautiful, striped hide were saved, along with the claws. The Scout punctured the muscled flesh just behind his fingers using the fangs. He peeled the flesh of his hand back, exposing the bones of the hand. He had placed the still living claws against his own bone, tied them on with a strip of the beast’s hide, then replaced the hand’s flesh, and his super-human body had merged the claws into his fist. Now, they had grown solid into his hand, as though they had always been there. The pain had been insane, it had been horrible. But he bore it. Adapt. Survive. He had done both. Kill. He had killed. He wore the hide of a jungle beast as a token to that. Now, as the firelight faded, he tasted the flesh of the jungle cat. It brought with it a flood of memories, induced by the Omophagea, the Remembrancer… Memories of hunts long past, of the fear in the eyes of the prey as it saw its death coming upon it. But then, a peculiar memory flashed by, a memory of strange creatures who walked on two paws, with long sticks that spit fire and pain. Humans… And… And… The pain. It was there, it was THERE! The mission, the Objective. Follow the signs, reach the Objective, finish the mission… The pain was searing, the lights flashing, strange faces leaning over him, eyes glowing, green and blue, and purple… Un-natural faces, metal faces… And… The Objective. Yes. The mission. It must be carried out. Adapt. Survive. These he had done. Kill. This he had done. The mission. The Objective. What was it! Why couldn’t he remember, what couldn’t he remember… What… Why… The pain, why did it come back, again and again!?!?! The buzzing returned. He needed to move. The last flame died as he rose from his sitting position. He ran again, into the darkness, into the unknown. Maim. Yes. Maim. + + + + + The darkness was beginning to fade, but the mist was back, cloying, gray, cold. He wrapped the hide around his shoulders, as he crouched in the cold, waiting, watching. The building was small, it was squat. It was green, like the foliage around it, but it was still not concealed well enough… Not well enough to hide it from the Scout. The buzzing once again narrowed itself into a single channel… Maim. Yes. He rose, his claws scraped a tree as he moved closer to the edge of the clearing in which the building sat. It had clearly been in use for a while, the ground around it was trampled, and the smell of humanity was everywhere… The Scout sniffed once or twice, his Neuroglottis transplant identifying the scent and dipping into his fractured memories to bring up mental images of what he was smelling. There was a man, dressed in green fatigues and gripping a lasgun… And a strange clear liquid that changed its colors depending on what temperature it was… Prometheum, that was its name… And… And… What else? There was something else here, but he could not identify it. Then, he opened his eyes and saw something that perfectly put his thoughts into order. A startled man, pointing something at him… A boltpistol. Yes. The other smell was primer, bolt primer. The scout leapt from the undergrowth, and the man fired, the shot going wide. Before he could fire again, the Scout reached him and sliced him across the bowels, spilling his intestines out. Another smell reached the Scout’s nose, another memory rose from the mists of his mind… It was the smell of blood. Kill 2. Instinct took over, as the Scout picked up the fallen bolt pistol. The door into the building was open, and he entered, his vision registered two men who were looking at the door, their weapons trained on him. They had heard the shot, heard the scream of their companion as his life was cut short. They fired, both carried laspistols, and the weapons’ detonations crackled over the Scout’s head as he ducked and fired back. The bolt pistol rocked once, twice, and both men were dead, the gory blast holes left in them by the bolt rounds gaped at the Scout like yawning mouths. Kills 3 and 4. Another man came running from somewhere, a corridor that opened into the room from the side, and he turned to see the Scout leaping at him. He reached for his knife but was impaled before he could get to it. Kill 5. The Scout heard another’s steps behind him and whirled, holding the body in his hands as a shield. Lasblasts mutilated the corpse in the Scout’s hands, but his aim held true as he fired from behind his meatshield, downing the other man. Kill 6. The corridor was silent, but the Scout could smell something… Fear. He followed the scent down the hall, until he reached a door. He could hear the sound of three people breathing behind it. Taking aim, he blew the lock on the door, then the hinges, and then rammed his body into it at a run, taking it with him into the room. Things moved as if frozen in time. He saw a man firing a gun, the shots whizzing high overhead, and felt the impact as the door he was pushing with him into the room impacted with another body. His bolt pistol coughed once, killing the man who was firing at him, and then the door and the man behind it slammed into the back wall. He heard a crack as the man’s spine broke. Kills 7 and 8. Suddenly, a pair of hands closed around the Scout’s neck, squeezing the life out of him, trying to do to him what he had done to the jungle-cat. But he would not be killed, not here, not now. He shifted his body, and then jabbed behind him with his clawed left hand. His claws impacted with flesh, pierced it, and shredded it. The pressure lessened as the choker lost his grip. The Scout whirled, stabbed once more, twice more, in the bowels, in the leg. The man fell, blood pouring from his mortal injuries. Kill 9. Kill. Maim. Adapt. Survive. Yes. These things were done. + + + + + The Scout carried the bolt pistol in his waistband, and he ran through the forest. The morning had passed, it was daytime now, but a light rain was falling, the gray clouds blocked out the sky. The sound of the rain and the movement of his feet blocked out the thoughts, and the Scout simply ran. It felt good to run. Then, suddenly, his head exploded with racking, twisting, raging pain. He fell to the ground, curling into a fetal ball, the rain washing over him. He is resisting the treatment… He is fighting the procedure. It will win, but he is fighting it. It will win. It will win. It will win. It will win. But he is fighting. He is fighting it… The pain! THE PAIN! It was everywhere, the lights, the glowing eyes, the metal faces, the feline’s prey, the smell of blood, the smell of Fear, the pain! Oh how it burned, how it raged within, consuming his mind. The pain! The Objective! The mission! Complete the mission, complete the mission, complete the mission, complete the mission! The mission, the Objective… What was it? What were they? How could he accomplish them if he didn’t know what they were! The pain… Everywhere… Adapt. Yes, he had adapted… Kill. Yes, he had killed. Survive. Yes, he had survived. Maim. Yes, he had maimed, he had Killed and Maimed and Adapted and Survived… And then, one word rang out, like a bell, clear, loud, and sharp. Overcome… Overcome. Overcome. Overcome. Overcome. The word echoed round and round in his skull until it drowned out all the other words, all the memories, all the pain. Then, it too faded. Everything was gone. His mind was a blank slate, a calm pool. Yes. He had overcome… Just now, he had overcome. Everything was calm. But one word remained. Purge. + + + + + The Scout walked, new purpose in every step. His mind was calm, he had found peace. He had been fighting the procedure, but it had won in the end, as they had said it would. Now, the one last word in his head directed him, spurred him onwards. Purge. Purge. Purge. Purge. Purge. The last command, the last Objective of the mission. What would he purge? Where was he going? He knew not. Only that movement was his friend and delays were his foe. The word grew stronger, the urge to obey it grew more powerful. With every step, he was nearing his last Objective, his last command. Purge. He would obey. He broke into a run, cresting the top of a hill. He reached the very top, and the view that met his eyes was incredible. Below him was giant crater, formed long ago by some space rock striking the planet surface. He was not impressed with the view, however. His attention was riveted to the bottom of the crater, where a small bunker sat, its large communications array pointing towards the sky. He knew this was his Objective. Somehow, this was his Objective… He needed to reach it. He was about to start out down the side of the crater, when something caught his eye on the other side of the crater. Another man, thousands of feet away, was standing on the exact opposite edge of the crater. The sun glinted off of something that the other person held, it looked like a combat blade… The Scout was startled as the other man leapt from the crater edge and began his descent. It was a race! It all came back to him. A race to the finish line, and then… What? What came after the finish line? He didn’t know, but he knew that he was going to find out… + + + + + The Scout’s feet hit the bottom of the crater and he started out running. It was nearly a half mile to the bunker, and he sprinted to reach it as the other man reached the crater floor at the same time. The Scout pushed himself, his feet nearly flying over the ground, his hide cloak flapping behind him. He was moving faster than the other man… He was un-encumbered, while it appeared that his opponent carried an assortment of weapons, all of which the Scout was almost sure he had seen before… Could it be? Were they the weapons used by the men whom he had earlier killed? Impossible… The other runner had come from the opposite side of the crater… Which must mean that the other side too had a building in the woods that smelt of Prometheum and bolt primer? Perhaps this other man’s tests had mirrored the Scout’s own? His thoughts faded as he neared the bunker in the middle of the crater. He slowed and walked to the bunker, touching the metal of its sides. The other runner soon approached, but the Scout was puzzled… This opponent was dressed in the same way as he was! And he was shouldering a weapon. In that moment, it struck the Scout. This was a competition! Only one could advance, and the other man was a Scout as well, one who planned to be the victor. As the realization struck him, a lasblast struck the side of the bunker, and he ducked behind it as more followed. Now it was finally becoming clear… He drew his bolt pistol and prepared to take yet another life. Victory never comes easy. Who had said that? With this thought in his mind, he dashed from cover, firing his bolt pistol at the approaching foe. Two shots went wide, but a third impacted with the enemy Scout’s leg, causing him to trip. Another shot impacted with the side of the foe’s torso, but it did much less damage than it had done to the regular humans in the building in the woods… The enemy drew his own bolt pistol and returned fire as he got to his feet, but his shots went wide as the Scout rolled to the right and fired another shot that clipped the foe’s torso. The enemy grimaced in pain, but he kept shooting. One of his shots hit the Scout in the shoulder, tearing the flesh. The Scout rolled to his feet and fired once again, hitting the foe square in the chest, ripping a hole in his enemy’s body. The Scout dashed forwards, firing another shot, which missed. He pulled the trigger once more, but the gun did not fire… He had replaced the emptied magazine with a full one in the building in the woods, but had not brought any spare clips with him. Cursing his folly, the Scout dropped his pistol and closed with the injured enemy, who drew a knife and charged. The two warriors clashed, the Scout tried to impale his enemy with his claws, and the enemy tried to stab the Scout with the knife. They struggled for a few seconds, before the enemy managed to stab the Scout in the chest. The Scout’s vision blurred, and the face of his enraged foe vanished as time seemed to slow… The Scout saw a woman, and a man, and a little boy, all of them looking at him with… With… What? What was that expression? Not hate… Not anger… Not fear… What? The woman spoke, her voice like music. “We love you Aran… Be strong. Make us proud. Make the Imperium proud. Make the Emperor proud, son.” The foe withdrew the knife, and Aran was pulled into the present, his lifeblood draining away… His eyes were seeing things they shouldn’t have been seeing… His mind told him one thing. Purge. Purge what? Purge WHAT!?!? Purge… Purge the weak. Purge those who are not fit for the Emperor’s service. Purge this man who has stabbed you in the chest. Purge… Aran obeyed his last Objective, he finished his mission. His eyes, trained to see the weak spots in an enemy’s defenses, saw the other Scout’s arm lower, he saw a clear path… He took it. One stab. His claws plunged into the other Scout’s first heart. Two stabs. His second set of claws pierced the second heart. Kill 10. Aran withdrew his bloodied claws, and walked over to the bunker. Ten kills. That was a part of the test… Aran entered the bunker, and he saw what he knew would be there. The teleporter ring. His training was over. He had mastered himself. Now he would help to master the galaxy. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
KEEPER Posted January 16, 2009 Share Posted January 16, 2009 Great read! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Brother Captain Andrecus Posted January 28, 2009 Author Share Posted January 28, 2009 Thanks! I'm surprised I haven't gotten more comments. Maybe the title sounds too mundane. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Corsair Posted January 28, 2009 Share Posted January 28, 2009 Interesting read, and I think you executed very well. In particular, the fractured mental state of the Scout was interesting, and the use of repetition helped add to the frantic feel. Well done! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Brother Captain Andrecus Posted January 28, 2009 Author Share Posted January 28, 2009 Thanks, I really love getting comments. I was going for the fractured, frantic feel, as though the scout didn't really know who he was. I imagine having your mind bent in so many different ways every day would kind-of do that to you... Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
minigun762 Posted January 28, 2009 Share Posted January 28, 2009 I think the Kill and Maim part might be confusing. Little too Kharnish if you know what I mean. Great read though. I like how its a battle between himself and the conditioning. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Dorns Padawan Posted January 28, 2009 Share Posted January 28, 2009 Sounds like a pre-heresy World Eater initiation test! I think perhaps you went slightly OTT with the use of Kill, Maim, and Purge but apart from that, a very good read. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Brother Captain Andrecus Posted January 28, 2009 Author Share Posted January 28, 2009 Haha, yah, perhaps I did go a bit OTT. But hey, these are 8 foot tall, acid spitting, genetically enhanced superwarriors with rocket launcher pistols we're talking about here. OTT is the norm... Yah. I didn't write this as a World Eaters thing, actually. I was planning to have them be like, the Red Stars chapter (Just one I made up off the top of my head for another fic a while back. I want to portray them as especially brutal, nasty marines...) or perhaps some other Chapter I have yet to flesh out, maybe one that excels in jungle warfare, like the Raptors, but with augmentations taken from the dangerous animal life of their planet.) Really, it could be ANY Chapter. It's up to the reader to assign a Chapter to this lone Initiate. (Also, a lot of chapters are rumored to pit Initiates against each-other, IIRC...) Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Brother Captain Andrecus Posted August 26, 2009 Author Share Posted August 26, 2009 Minor edits. This is getting closer to finality, I think. Kill. Maim. Purge. This was their mantra, this was their duty. Slaughter. Wound. Purify. This was their quest, this was their destiny. Eradicate. Mutilate. Sanitize. This was their birth-right, this was their calling. Exterminate. Weaken. Cleanse. This was their purpose, this was their battle-song. Kill. Maim. Purge. They were his instruments, he was their guide. Slaughter, Wound. Purify. They were his children, he was their leader. Eradicate. Mutilate. Sanitize. They were his servants, he was their master. Exterminate. Weaken. Cleanse. They were his Angels of Death, he was their patriarch. KILL. MAIM. PURGE. They were his Space Marines, he was their Emperor. Kill… Maim… Purge… + + + + + The Scout awoke from his trance. He did not know how long he had been asleep. He did not know how far they had taken him from the Monastery, how deep they had placed him. He knew only the Objective. Adapt, Survive, Overcome. Kill, Maim, Purge. Serve him and he shall protect thee. All these things the Scout knew. These things were a part of him. They were the things that made him. The things that would help him prevail. The things that would help him Adapt, Survive, and Overcome, Kill, Maim, and Purge. He lived only to serve, and his service brought him protection. The words were in his mind, the words that made him what he was, who he was, who he would be. An Angel of Death. A true servant, a true warrior. The mission. The Objective. It too, was there. The words would help him. Help him to accomplish the objective. Help him Adapt. Survive. Overcome. Help him Kill. Help him Maim. Help him Purge. He shook his head. He needed to move. Yes. Move. Moving would stop the infernal buzzing, the racket in his skull, the words that would not go. The words that he knew he needed but was not sure he wanted. He is resisting the treatment…Who had said that? The memory… So… So far away. It faded, washed into nothingness by a tide of words. Words he knew he needed but was not sure he wanted. Kill. Yes. The first word. Kill. He arose from the ground, stretched, and then ran, his feet pounding over the wet grass, his cold body warming with the exercise. It felt good to move. Moving stopped the buzzing, reduced it to a single, undeniable thread of clattering mind-noise, which seemed to pull him towards something. And he cared not what that something was. He only ran. He moved to kill. Yes, that was it. + + + + + He was getting closer. He could feel it. Leaves whipped against his face, against his bare arms. Mist and rain and dew clung to him as he moved. The mind-noise grew stronger, more powerful. Every second, as he drew closer, it grew in strength. He could FEEL it. Suddenly, he crouched, stopping. His run was at an end, now it was time to move slowly, quietly. Adapt. Yes, adapt. His hearing, augmented by the Lyman’s Ear, picked out every sound and filtered it. His eyes, super-sharp thanks to the Occulobe recently implanted in him, picked out details in the low-light. There. There it was… A creature. A large, sinuous creature. It was moving, out of the darkness. It was still unaware of the human, for the Scout’s smell had been washed off by the rain and the mist and the dew. The creature sniffed at the air, its feline face pointed towards the sky above. The tiny patch in the foliage let only a little light through, and that was dimmed by the mist and the clouds, but the Scout who watched the beast could tell easily that this was a predator, a born killer. A ruler of the jungle. A master of the hunt… He watched it as it stretched in the light, it was still tired. Now was the time to strike. Kill. Yes. Now. KILL NOW! The Scout leapt from the cover of the underbrush, his tightly muscled legs propelling him into the clearing. He slammed into the giant feline predator, his arms wrapping around its middle. It spun, snarling, roaring, scratching. Its claws were long, easily six inches. It took a gouge out of the Scout’s face, but he held on, squeezing the breath from its massive lungs. It continued to writhe, slashing him again and again and again, until he finally caught it around its massive, muscled neck. He twisted its head and yanked back. Its neck snapped, and it fell still. Kill one. + + + + + He sat by the tiny fire, it was hardly a fire at all. The wood was so damp that it took forever for the sticks to light… But eventually, he had gotten the fire going. The dead beast’s skinned carcass was disposed of, but its largest fangs and its beautiful, striped hide were saved, along with the claws. The Scout punctured the muscled flesh just behind his fingers using the fangs. He peeled the flesh of his hand back, exposing the hard bone beneath. He placed the still living claws against the solid metacarpals, tied them down with a strip of the beast’s hide, then replaced the hand’s flesh. The Scout’s super-human body had merged the claws into his fist, and they had grown fully into his hand, as though they had always been there. The pain had been insane, horrible. But he bore it. Adapt. Survive. He had done both. Kill. He had killed. He wore the hide of a jungle beast as a token to that. Now, as the firelight faded, he tasted the flesh of the jungle cat. It brought with it a flood of memories, induced by the Omophagea, the Remembrancer… Memories of hunts long past, of the fear in the eyes of the prey as it saw its death coming upon it. But then, a peculiar memory flashed by, a memory of strange creatures who walked on two paws, with long sticks that spit fire and pain. Humans… And… And… The pain. It was there, it was THERE! The mission, the Objective. Follow the signs, reach the Objective, finish the mission… The pain was searing, the lights flashing, strange faces leaning over him, eyes glowing green and blue and purple… Unnatural faces, metal faces… And… The Objective. Yes. The mission. It must be carried out. Adapt. Survive. These he had done. Kill. This he had done. The mission. The objective. What was it! Why couldn’t he remember, what couldn’t he remember? What… Why? The pain, why did it come back, again and again!? The buzzing returned. He needed to move. The last flame died as he rose from his sitting position. He ran again, into the darkness, into the unknown. Maim. Yes. Maim. + + + + + The darkness was beginning to fade, but the mist was back, cloying, gray, cold. He wrapped the hide around his shoulders as he crouched in the cold, waiting, watching. The building was small and squat. It was green, like the foliage around it, but it was still not concealed well enough… Not well enough to hide it from the Scout. The buzzing once again narrowed itself into a single channel… Maim. Yes. He rose, his claws scraped a tree as he moved closer to the edge of the clearing in which the building sat. It had clearly been in use for a while, the ground around it was trampled, and the smell of humanity was everywhere… The Scout sniffed once or twice, his Neuroglottis transplant identifying the scent and dipping into his fractured memories to bring up mental images of what he was smelling. The Scout saw a man, dressed in green fatigues and gripping a lasgun… And a strange clear liquid that changed its colors depending on what temperature it was… Promethium, that was its name… And… And… What else? There was something else here, but he could not identify it. Then, he opened his eyes and viewed something that perfectly put his thoughts into order. A startled man standing in front of the building, pointing something at him… A boltpistol. Yes. The other smell was fyceline, bolt primer. The scout leapt from the undergrowth, and the man fired, the shot going wide. Before he could fire again, the Scout reached him and sliced him across the bowels, spilling his intestines out. Another smell reached the Scout’s nose, another memory rose from the mists of his mind… It was the smell of blood. Kill two. Instinct took over, as the Scout picked up the fallen bolt pistol. The door into the building was open, and he entered, his vision registered two men who were looking at the door, their weapons trained on him. They had heard the shot, heard the scream of their companion as his life was cut short. They fired, both carried laspistols, and the weapons’ detonations crackled over the Scout’s head as he ducked and fired back. The bolt pistol rocked once, twice, and both men were dead, the gory blast holes left in them by the bolt rounds gaping at the Scout like yawning mouths. Kills three and four. Another man came running from somewhere, a corridor that opened into the room from the side, and he turned to see the Scout leaping at him. He reached for his knife but was impaled by the Scout’s claws before he could get his blade free. Kill five. The Scout heard another’s steps behind him and whirled, holding the body of the most recently slain man in his hands as a shield. Lasblasts mutilated the corpse in the Scout’s hands, but the clawed monster’s aim held true as he fired from behind his meatshield, downing the other man. Kill six. The corridor was silent, but the Scout could smell something… Fear. He followed the scent down the hall, until he reached a door. He could hear the sound of three people breathing behind it. Taking aim, he blew the lock on the door, and then rammed his body into it at a run, taking it with him into the room. Things moved as if frozen in time. He saw a man firing a gun, the shots whizzing high overhead, and felt the impact as the door he was pushing with him into the room impacted with another body. His bolt pistol coughed once, killing the man who was firing at him, and then the door and the man behind it slammed into the back wall. He heard a crack as the man’s spine broke. Kills seven and eight. Suddenly, a pair of hands closed around the Scout’s neck, squeezing the life out of him, trying to do to him what he had done to the jungle-cat. But he would not be killed, not here, not now. He shifted his body, and then jabbed behind him with his clawed left hand. His claws impacted with flesh, pierced it, and shredded it. The pressure lessened as the choker lost his grip. The Scout whirled, stabbed once more, twice more, in the bowels, in the leg. The man fell, blood pouring from his mortal injuries. Kill nine. Kill. Maim. Adapt. Survive. Yes. These things were done. + + + + + The Scout carried the bolt pistol in his waistband, and he ran through the forest. The morning had passed, it was daytime now, but a light rain was falling, the gray clouds blocked out the sky. The sound of the rain and the movement of his feet blocked out the thoughts, and the Scout simply ran. It felt good to run. Then, suddenly, his head exploded with racking, twisting, raging pain. He fell to the ground, curling into a fetal ball, the rain washing over him. He is resisting the treatment… He is fighting the procedure. It will win, but he is fighting it. It will win. It will win. It will win. It will win. But he is fighting. He is fighting it… The pain! THE PAIN! It was everywhere, the lights, the glowing eyes, the metal faces, the feline’s prey, the smell of blood, the smell of Fear, the pain! Oh how it burned, how it raged within, consuming his mind. The pain! The objective! The mission! Complete the mission, complete the mission, complete the mission! The mission, the Objective… What was it? What were they? How could he accomplish them if he didn’t know what they were! The pain… Everywhere… Adapt. Yes, he had adapted… Kill. Yes, he had killed. Survive.Indeed, he had survived. Maim. He had maimed, he had Killed and Maimed and Adapted and Survived… And then, one word rang out, like a bell, clear, loud, and sharp. Overcome…Overcome. Overcome. Overcome. The word echoed round and round in his skull until it drowned out all the other words, all the memories, all the pain. Then, it too faded. Everything was gone. His mind was a blank slate, a calm pool. Yes. He had overcome… Just now, he had overcome. Everything was calm. But one word remained. Purge. + + + + + The Scout walked, new purpose in every step. His mind was calm, he had found peace. He had been fighting the procedure, but it had won in the end, as they had said it would. Now, the one last word in his head directed him, spurred him onwards. Purge. Purge. Purge. Purge. The last command, the last Objective of the mission. What would he purge? Where was he going? He knew not. Only that he must keep moving. Delays were his enemy. The urge to obey grew more powerful. With every step, he was nearing his last objective, his last command. Purge. He would obey. He broke into a run, cresting the top of a hill. He reached the very top, and the view that met his eyes was incredible. Below him was giant crater, formed long ago by some space rock striking the planet surface. He was not impressed with the view, however. His attention was riveted to the bottom of the crater, where a small bunker sat, its large communications array pointing towards the sky. He knew this was his Objective. Somehow, this was his Objective… He needed to reach it. He was about to start out down the side of the crater, when something caught his eye on the other side of the crater. Another man, thousands of feet away, was standing on the exact opposite edge of the crater. The sun glinted off of something that the other person held, it looked like a combat blade… The Scout was startled as the other man leaped from the crater edge and began his descent. It was a race! It all came back to him. A race to the finish line, and then… What? What came after the finish line? He didn’t know, but he knew that he was going to find out. + + + + + The Scout’s feet hit the bottom of the crater and he started out running. It was nearly a half mile to the bunker, and he sprinted to reach it as the other man reached the crater floor at the same time. The Scout pushed himself, his feet nearly flying over the ground, his hide cloak flapping behind him. He was moving faster than the other man. The Scout was un-encumbered, while it appeared that his opponent carried an assortment of weapons, all of which the Scout was almost sure he had seen before… Could it be? Were they the weapons used by the men whom he had earlier killed? Impossible. The other runner had come from the opposite side of the crater… Which must mean that the other side too had a building in the woods that smelt of Promethium and bolt primer? Perhaps this other man’s tests had mirrored the Scout’s own? His thoughts faded as he neared the bunker in the middle of the crater. He slowed and walked to the bunker, touching the metal of its sides. The other runner soon approached, but the Scout was puzzled… This opponent was dressed in the same way as he was! And he was shouldering a weapon. In that moment, the Scout understood. This was a competition! Only one could advance, and the other man was a scout as well, one who planned to be the victor. As the realization struck him, a lasblast hit the side of the bunker, and he ducked behind it as more followed. Now it was finally becoming clear… He drew his bolt pistol and prepared to take yet another life. Victory never comes easy. Who had said that? With this thought in his mind, he dashed from cover, firing his bolt pistol at the approaching foe. Two shots went wide, but a third impacted with the enemy scout’s leg, causing him to stumble. Another shot impacted with the side of the foe’s torso, but it did much less damage than it had done to the regular humans in the building in the woods… The enemy drew his own bolt pistol and returned fire as he got to his feet, but his bullets went wide as the Scout rolled to the right and fired another shot that clipped the foe’s torso. The enemy grimaced in pain, but he kept shooting. One of the shots hit the Scout in the shoulder, tearing the flesh. The Scout got to his feet and fired once again, hitting the foe square in the chest, ripping a hole in the enemy’s body. The Scout dashed forwards, firing another bolt-round, which missed. He pulled the trigger once more, but the gun did not fire… He had replaced the emptied magazine with a full one in the building in the woods, but had not brought any spare clips with him. Cursing his folly, the Scout dropped his pistol and closed with the injured enemy, who drew a knife and charged. The two warriors clashed, the Scout tried to impale his enemy with his claws, and the enemy tried to stab the Scout with the knife. They struggled for a few seconds, before the enemy managed to stab the Scout in the chest. The Scout’s vision blurred, and the face of his enraged foe vanished as time seemed to slow… The Scout saw a woman, and a man, and a little boy, all of them looking at him with… With… What? What was that expression? Not hate… Not anger… Not fear… What? The woman spoke, her voice like music. “We love you Aran… Be strong. Make us proud. Make the Imperium proud. Make the Emperor proud, son.” Love. Love? Not for a Space Marine… The foe withdrew the knife, and Aran was pulled into the present, his lifeblood draining away… His eyes were seeing things they shouldn’t have been seeing. His mind told him one thing. Purge. Purge what? Purge what!? Purge… Purge the weak. Purge those who are not fit for the Emperor’s service. Purge this man who has stabbed you in the chest. Purge… Aran obeyed his last objective, he finished his mission. His eyes, trained to see the weak spots in an enemy’s defenses, saw the other scout’s arm drop. Aran saw a clear path. He took it, one stab. His claws plunged into the other Scout’s first heart. Two stabs. The claws pierced the second heart. Kill ten. Aran withdrew his bloodied claws from the lifeless body of his foe and walked to the bunker. Ten kills. That was a part of the test… Aran entered the bunker, and he saw what he knew would be there. The teleporter ring. His training was over. He had mastered himself. Now he would help to master the galaxy. 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antique_nova Posted September 17, 2009 Share Posted September 17, 2009 sorry, but i felt that it was too repetitive and it didn't relly hook me. I skimmed through it to be honest and i think that you are repeating some phrases waaaay too many times. sorry if my comments were too harsh. thanks antique_nova Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Hubernator Posted September 17, 2009 Share Posted September 17, 2009 I disagree though. Nicely written, decent atmosphere, good flow, decent plot-line. It's all good :o Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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