# Warhammer: Resistance



## JonasGrant (Sep 27, 2011)

*So... I keep hearing people talk about how modern earth would fare against the Imperium and the answer is obvious, but it gave me an idea for a story.*

The city of Solstice contained many contradictions within its sparkling white walls; the poor and sick littered the streets, begging for coins at the corners of ancient stone building before making their beds in an alley between shiny glass towers and concrete multi-level parking.

The citizens complained against their leaders but re-elected them at the first chance. Art and utility fought an open war in the streets, graffiti, tags and statues wrestling with circulation panels, bus stops and public announcement boards.

Cars, trucks and motorcycles pumped at intersections like blood, interrupted by a flow of pedestrians every once in a while.

A silver motorcycle ripped itself from the traffic and squeezed in a space between two cars. The driver, wearing blue and black leather, pulled the helmet from his freshly trimmed skull and clipped it to the side of the bike. 

The terrace was packed full when he stepped through and the Café’s interior seemed even more crowded.

Booths along the walls, tables across both floors and stools at the bar were all taken, forcing the rider to head back outside and take a seat a mere ten steps from his motorcycle.

The thing looked much older than it should have, being only a year old, but he had taken it through so much the man felt lucky it still held together…

“Hello, sir, welcome to Plaza de Marko!” A falsely cheerful voice sounded as a menu was thrust upon the table, “May I bring you something to drink?” Asked a strawberry blonde with a ring in her nose.

“Tea,” He answered, picking the leatherback pamphlet, “green, no milk, please.”

And she left him to his thoughts.

The bike was a gift from his only friend, the owner of a local art gallery, to celebrate their newfound wealth. The rider, Evan, was only twenty-two and already rich enough to buy this café and have enough leftovers for a comfortable retirement, all thanks to the sale of a single painting, a banal panorama representing an ancient alien city, as it stood before Imperial agents demanded its destruction.

Evan did not feel the outrage most citizens had, he actually thought the organic and irregular angles had been a pain in the arse to render, their disappearance would spare him from even recreating them again, not to mention it had made him quite rich.

What do you do when you earn more money in a day than you estimated to exist in the whole universe? 

He had yet to find the answer, but traveling around the world on his motorcycle and seeing so many different culture had left him with a thousand ideas instead of none at all. A step up, right?

He had spent time with southern islanders, tribal warriors, where he had acquired many useless yet awesome skills, such as spear fishing, martial dancing and archery, along with vine-like markings on his left arm and a new concept of personal property. The Islander had none, considering needs before ownership.

He had then gone way north in the snowy peaks of Korva, where he was offered a bed in an aging military base. His month there taught him a lot about communism and military life, how to drink vodka, too. Before leaving, he was made an honorary member of the local regiment and re-baptised Ivan Sergeyev.

Heading south-east after that, he was met with a very different welcome in the snob and elitist Alran society, being outright ignored until the moment he began spending money. There, he learned how to talk a lot without ever saying a thing, how to twist conversations in the direction of his choice and was shown just how fragile global economy was.

Hurrying out of there, he headed further east and took a boat to the erudite and freedom-centered island country of Keneld’at, though now under heavy pressure from the imperium, the Keneldians still spoke their minds and researched better ways to make life easier. The free education there meant he was surrounded with thinkers and philosophers and got his head filled to the brim with altruistic ideals and sophisms that would cause aneurisms in lesser minded beings.

Next, he crossed the high seas on a Keneldian cargo ship, working against the tides as hard as any member of the crew for nearly a month, when he reached the secluded Akato nation, the famine and desolation there contrasted oddly with the country’s literacy, higher than that of even the Keneldians. When he questioned an official about it, the man was quite openly annoyed at the ignorance, but still explained that Aranak, Evan’s homeland, had placed an embargo on their nation, preventing any fair trade to be performed. 

An assassination attempt, in the form on a hand grenade thrown in his motel room, earned Evan the network of pink facial scars covering his right cheek, eyebrow and jaw. The same official personally tracked down those responsible and had them publicly executed. When questioned, he made it clear this had not been an act of goodwill, but a practical decision, for if they scared out foreigners trying to understand the situation, they would only worsen their situation.

After that, Evan was repatriated to an Aranakian hospital where they spent the last six months trying to piece his face together.

“There you are, sir,” The blonde placed a porcelain bowl before him and fetched a paper pad from her pocket, “did you make your choice?” 

He looked down into the bowl, at the reflected sky amongst green bubbles. He had no plans to become some rich snob, but didn’t exactly want to waste his fortune either, he wanted to mean something, be someone, not just another lucky loser. Humanitarian groups around the world tried to do good and any of them could use a donation, but, somehow, that felt weak, lazy. 

With the things he’d seen and learned, Evan could easily create one such group himself, organize a bunch of hard bastards with hearts of gold and fund them…

“Yeah, I did. I’ll…” The rest of the answer was drowned in terrified screams further down the street while a man with an imperial accent blared in a megaphone that a curfew was now in place and that any citizen found in the street would be arrested and taken to the nearest holding camp. “The frack is going on?” 

Customers of the Café stood up from their tables to see what the ruckus is about. Evan fetched the PDA in his inner pocket and accessed the latest global news, though it proved futile as every public announcement board in the street switched to the same message:

Glorious Imperium of man annexes Siika, all hail the God-Emperor, all hail the Imperium!

Followed by: 
All citizens of the Imperium must submit to Imperial Guard’s orders, respect the curfew (10:00 AM/26:00 PM) and refrain from gathering until dissident elements have been put under arrest. Further instruction will be provided...

He glanced up just in time to see the panicked crowd arrive, along with the massive tank crushing main street under its treads. Soldiers, like toys next to the behemoth, stomped ahead with their bulky laser weapons aimed at the crowd. They shot anyone that so much as looked at them funny, let anything and anyone too slow get crushed by the tank when they didn’t trample it themselves and blared orders to disperse and desist, as if the late afternoon traffic was some kind of riot.

Cars were bunched up in masses of sheet metal, some of them leaking fuel, others leaking blood. The blonde rose her own PDA to film the grim parade, but was swiftly shot in the neck by a lone red beam, the wound cauterizing instantly, although the woman’s lower jaw and upper chest melted like wax, she blinked twice, trying to breathe through closed airway.

Evan ran, straight into the Café, along with dozens of panicked citizens, seconds before the owner shoved down a steel curtain, sealing almost fifty people in the street. 

It shocked Evan and he found himself trying to open the curtain, yelling incomprehensibly, despite the large padlock that held it down.

Nobody tried to stop him, people on the other side banged against the curtain like crazed apes, but in the darkness of the Café, a dazed silence reigned.

Soon, the panicked cries outside grew feral and the rattling of the curtain became so intense Evan lost his grip on the handle. He fell on his butt just in time, as red beams perforated the curtain from every angle, spearing over a dozen of the cowering citizens.

No blood, only rows of twisted bodies, melted grotesquely by the insane heat of the weapons.

“You frackers!” Roared a graying man who had also been trying to open the curtain, “You’ll pay for this! I’ll make you burn for this!” 

The man, as Evan would later find out, was named Kevin LaCosta, he was a former Orbital Drop Marine and his daughter had been seconds away from being on the right side of the curtain when it was shut. 

Evan did not blame whoever had shut the curtain, the Café was filled to the brim and these people were on the verge of breakdown… 

LaCosta and Evan spent the whole night with their backs to the curtain, swapping stories about the places they’d seen and predictions of the future. Both agreed on one thing;

They wouldn’t just bow to the Imperium. 

That night, amongst the shock, fear and sadness, a resistance movement came together. Two men of contradicting beliefs and upbringing united and soon became the center of attention. By the next morning, they had a plan and were trying to figure the best way to carry it out.

This display of calm and control drew others to them, gave them something to hold onto in this madness.

Evan had drawn a map on the floor, starting with their street and then adding bits to it using the other survivor’s input. “There’s an overpass here.” Said one, “This street forks here and here.” Pointed another, “There’s a network of unused subway tunnels that lead five blocks from the target.”

That one earned a few looks. An Hispanic brunette, the athletic type dressed for a jog. Evan nodded and used the stump of chalk to draw the tunnel. The survivors would be organized in forty groups of three, all taking a different route to their target, a private firing range manned by an old ODM buddy of LaCosta’s.

Every group was encouraged to head back home and gather essentials, family, food and any trinket of sentimental value, as long as they kept in mind they might have to fight if they stuck with the whole group. 

“We’re not going to hit them outright,” Explained the former Marine to the captivated crowd, “we need to gather our strength, find where our armed forces are at and figure out what we’re up against… Anyone knows anything about the Imperium?”

A man in a sparkling clean business suit stepped forward, “I had dealings with their merchants over the years, they’re a massive empire, humans, spanning about sixteen solar systems…”

“Sixteen?” The Marine mused, “Alright, that’s a frakload of troops, but they must have other things to care about, we might not be able to take them out, but we can make ‘em revise their domination skak…”

Ten AM came a bit later and the curtain opened to a desolated street, though void of corpse, it smelled of decay and death. Group one, Evan, the brunette and LaCosta, headed straight for Kevin’s massive truck, parked in an alley because it wouldn’t fit in any parking lot, while the others filed out under the watchful eyes of Imperial walkers, Sentinels.


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## kavyanshrike (Sep 10, 2011)

interesting take on the idea looking forward to more


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## JonasGrant (Sep 27, 2011)

*A/N: Thanks! So, I've been looking at stubbers and autoguns and it appears to me that the 40k Universe makes absolutely no sense at all, because some references pointed to autoguns being equal to lasguns in raw damage, yet only slightly better than stubguns, though lasguns and autoguns hit with the punch of a 30mm round (Which, considering flechette, airburst and detachable sabot ammunition, isn't that far ahead of today's performances), so I'll carefully avoid such matters until it cannot be avoided :S*

People deal with grief differently, some just push it back, others let it all set in and keep it in, others simply open the valves and stop thinking about it. LaCosta was the third type. As soon as he sat behind the wheel of his massive truck, he was met with his daughter’s perfume, a flowery scent imbibed into the seats. 

Kevin’s eyes watered and he collapsed on the steering wheel, too weak to get up, his forehead bumping the horn rather pathetically. Sobs shook the large man’s body as he whispered his daughter’s name. 
“Anna, oh my darling, I’m so sorry, I’m so fraking sorry baby…” Evan and the girl were left dumbstruck, unable to decide on what they should do next. It seemed like madness now, fighting the Imperium, the government had given in long ago, clearly stating to its citizens, though in more complex terms, that they were Terra’s bitches now, on account of the Imperium having such a massive military.

What could a handful of confused blokes do about it? Fling rocks at Super Heavy tanks?

When the girl voiced it out loud, the thought had the effect of a whip on the retired marine.

His eyes, red and swollen, shot lightning at the Hispanic woman when he spoke a line he most likely had found in some action movie: “To die for your beliefs is damn better than to be shot begging for mercy…” He pointed to the street, barely visible from where they stood. 

A sentinel strode across their vision, groaning under its own weight.

“The plan’s not to kill them or kick them out, we just want some leverage, some respect, so they stop slaughtering our kids in the fraking streets!”

Evan frowned at that part, “Wait, we actually have a plan, I mean, beyond getting guns and stuff?” Though a vital part of that plan himself, he had yet to see how all of their loose suggestions and plotting came together to be called a plan.

The girl, who’s name neither men could recall, nodded, though apparently in agreement with Evan’s question.

“Of course!” The man, now looking more composed, started the car, V8 engine roaring into life. “We’ll have to see how many of those twits wimped out first.”

They all climbed in without another word. Evan disagreed with Kevin, preferring ‘run and live’ to ‘run and gun’, but if there was a way to sort this whole mess out, it would be to stick with people actually willing to fight.

First stop on the schedule would be… “What’s your friggin’ name anyway?” LaCosta seemed to have forgot all about his daughter. A convincing façade.

“Michelle.” She had called shotgun before Evan could, ending up in the passenger seat, looking like a child in the oversized vehicle.

In the backseat, Evan peeked out the opposite window, looking for traces of his motorcycle and finding none. This should have bothered him, to have lost such a crucial part of his life, but it seemed of little consequences compared to LaCosta’s loss.

Instead, he wondered where all the crushed cars had gone, the roads being completely empty.

“What’s wrong with this picture?” He asked, looking out his own window, then back to the other. Trenches in the road indicated what direction the tank took, but street-lights, billboards, cars, everything that had been knocked down or wasn’t bolted down was now missing.

Michelle spotted it first, though, admittedly, LaCosta probably just didn’t care enough to answer at that moment, “They cleaned the street overnight.”

Evan nodded, “What kind of army can spare cleanup crews the very night following an invasion?”

Kevin stopped at an intersection and spat a string of insanity at a sport car, speeding away from two chasing sentinels. “They didn’t clean.” he spoke once the walkers had gone. The truck lurched forward cautiously and went back at a decent speed, only then did Kevin finish his explanation “They scavenged… Gotta wonder why an empire that size needs to scrounge for junk.”

They spent about five minutes in complete silence, scrutinizing the deserted streets, alien yet so familiar. At the far end of an alley, Evan caught a fleeting glimpse of six civilians, blindfolded and on their knees, Imperial warriors lining up shots…

“What the…” Michelle had her eyes set dead ahead and he followed it to a couple in their thirties, blindfolded and held at gunpoint by three Imperial Guardsmen. A child, about six years old, was being held by a man in a dark military coat while the soldiers put laser bolts through his parents. 

The shots over-penetrated and sizzled three parallel scorch lines in the concrete. The woman’s arm fell to the floor before she did, then the coat-wearing man released her child, who stumbled toward the corpses, his cries heard from two blocks away.

LaCosta seemed unfazed, “You guys still think we should just play along?” he scoffed, pulling over before a red brick apartment building, Michelle’s place.

Both men waited in the car while she fetched her belongings; a toothbrush, a backpack full of spare socks, underwears and t-shirts, a jean jacket that went out of style before Michelle’s birth and, finally, a massive wolf-dog hybrid, the type bred by Korvan military forces , who simply sat next to Evan, an air of grim determination painted across its face as it looked through the windshield.

“I see you brought you horse…” Joked the young man, petting the creature tentatively.

Michelle climbed in her own seat, no trace of humor found in her face, “That’s Boris, my boyfriend’s dog…” Boris let Evan touch him, but showed no reaction to his presence, “He trains attack and guard dogs for the police, Boris is supposed to enter active service next week.”

The dog yawned, baring rows of shiny fangs long and wide to the point they’d give a grizzly bear something to think about. The thick black and white fur only made it more intimidating, despite the relaxed steel blue eyes. 

LaCosta smiled at the animal, “Now that’s a freakin’ dog.” And he took off again, this time headed straight for their destination, his friend’s shooting range. Evan had no belongings left, now that his motorcycle was gone, and Kevin did not feel like going back home right now.

“Used to have tons of guns,” He confessed as the truck took an abrupt left turn on the highway, “but then I got a wife and a little girl and all this firepower didn’t feel like so much protection when the kid began touching and playing with anything she could grab…” 

Not many ex-military would go and get rid of their armory, even for their children’s safety, something about basic training and the brainwash they got there made them metaphorical gun addicts. LaCosta had been an Orbital Drop Marine, the hardest kind of brainwashed bastards after Korvan Special Forces… This man loved his daughter very much.

A checkpoint, essentially slabs of concrete, barbed wire and garage-door styled gate set at the end of an overpass, forced them to slow down and look for an alternate road, but the Imperials had made it so when you saw the checkpoint, you couldn’t avoid it without jumping off the bridge or turning back, both of which would be slightly suspicious…

They stopped before the gate and Kevin rolled down his window. An officer walked up from the guard booth. “Hello, citizen, ID please…” The man’s polite and professional tone clashed sharply with the brutality his colleagues had displayed so far.

Kevin handed him his driver license and shooting range membership card, his face void of expressions. The man looked at Michelle next, so she fetched a bus pass and library card. He took these too and compared the pictures before finally turning to Evan.

He searched his wallet for anything that had his face on it, but found only credit cards and other junk he should really get rid of one day…

“One second, I had my driver license somewhere in there…” Looking up, he saw only his own worried expression in the mirror shades worn by the officer. The license, along with his passport and any papers that could identify him as Evan Anderson, had been on the motorcycle, stashed under the rear seat so he wouldn’t lose them…

The officer spoke in his radio, “Code six-one-two at checkpoint seven, standby…” and walked around the car to knock on Evan’s own window. He looked up again and saw blood draining from his own face as the glass lowered itself into the door. A single burst for the massive guns mounted on the wall would kill everyone in the car. Death was one mistake away.

The officer’s head snapped up instantly to the massive dog riding alongside Evan.

“Beautiful…” The Imperial muttered, pulling the shades up, “I haven’t seen wolf-dogs since leaving Valhalla…” He then explained, pale eyes wide in awe and nostalgia. He then shook it off and returned to the matters at hand, “If you cannot find any papers, don’t beat yourself over it, a lot of things have changed overnight, we just need your name and a picture of you, so we can keep track of who’s in what section of the city.”

Evan Anderson, how hard would it be to just say that and be done with it? He remembered, however, hearing about what happened to those who openly opposed the Imperium in conquered countries and Evan Anderson was now a famous artist who’d made a fortune by painting a landscape the Imperials saw as heretical…

“Ivan Sergeyev.” The officer actually entered the name in some sort of PDA, along with a picture of Evan’s horrified face. If he looked up the name and picture… Had the Korvan soldiers been serious about making him an honorary member? Surely, they had told him that so he’d feel welcomed, they had better things to do than create new soldiers from the ground up only to…

“Retired member of the 92th Korvan Bears, undisclosed functions, age and whereabouts unknown… You collected new scars since that picture, didn’t you, private?” The tone in the man’s voice was not contempt, nor suspicion, it was respect and that freaked Evan out even more than realizing he had actually been made a member of Korvan armed forces. 

The officer tucked the PDA back in his chest pouch and leaned on the door, “A marine, a ranger and a tour guide traveling with an attack dog in an adapted military vehicle… I would be nervous about you three starting trouble, but then, if you were planning something, I believe you would have been slightly more discreet about it…” 

He pushed himself away, “Move along, and be careful, some rebel movement have already begun to surface, they’re not professional like us, they’ll just shoot anything they don’t like.”

And they rode out. Michelle began crying without apparent reason while Evan did his best to stop shaking.

DaCosta, however, was cursing himself for being so stupid, “He could have just shot us all, we were far too obvious!” He spat, punching the ceiling of his truck, “Damn it! I’m a marine, not some hard case spec ops spook, I don’t do insurgency shit, I shoot, I stab and I blow up!”

He looked up at Evan, in the rear view mirror, “How about you? You were Red Army?”

The young man shook his head, conscious that his scars, clothing, background and even his stance all said otherwise, “I just traveled a lot, they let me squat in one of their bases and I guess they made me their mascot, I don’t know…”

Kevin nodded, “Uh-huh…”. He did not believe him.

Michelle had no opinion, or, at least, she did not voice it. They spent the rest of the trip in silence, watching the streets, taking in the horrors that would soon become banal in Solstice.

The shooting range had its own underground parking, which had been filled to the brim with cars and refugees. There had been fifty-some people in the café, there were at least twice as many in the parking.

The thing, directly below the main building, stretched six levels down, the cars and people spread across the bottom three. A minibus offered an armored flank to whoever came down the ramp to the third basement and tents, ranging from military surplus to camping gear, had been erected all over the place.

“This is a mess…” Commented Kevin, a sneer on his face, “Red guy,” he turned to Evan, “get these idiots sorted out, I need to talk to my pal.” 

Michelle apparently already had her own objective and left with her dog to patrol the upper levels.

Evan got out of the car, they had parked at the bottom, and went to see a group of teens, obviously a street gang, smoking illegal stuff around an heavily modified pickup truck, complete with black lights and paper-thin wheels.

“I need some help,” he spoke, “you guys up for some work? You got weapons, maybe?”

They laughed and basically told him to go violate himself with a blowtorch. 

Evan spotted the obvious leader, a tall white boy obviously from a rich background. Whenever he laughed, the others swiftly followed. He ran a finger across the scars dotting his face before turning to the kid, “I’m sorry, did I upset your tight schedule? Or maybe you don’t want to make a mess of your fancy clothes?” He eyed said clothes critically, “Did your mama buy them for you, or were they your bigger brother’s?” The jeans had been torn and were obviously two sizes too big, but that probably was the point.

“The frak you think you are?” the kid got angry easily, a bad thing for a leader. He tried to intimidate Evan, being a good head taller, but a grenade to the face tends to make one quite blasé…

“I’m somebody and I don’t have time to waste with nobodies. Think we’ll get you food and stuff for telling us to piss off? Dream on, tough guy, you want to be in this happy little family? You pull your own weight.” 

And he left to find another group of kids on the opposite side of the parking, frat students. Two of them studied history, arts and mathematics, he told them to leave and find five other kids ready to work, then turned to the remaining four.

One studied to become a nurse, he got her to stick with him, two more were in architectural stuff and he told them to look around for water pipes, as they would need fresh water, latrines too. The last one, a bright orange haired mute with a ring in her lip and pin in her nose, studied metallurgy, industrial engineering and other things the nurse couldn’t recall.

“Uh…” Evan tried to figure some use for her, but found himself simply wondering what industrial engineering entailed. 

“She’s the one who armored the bus.” The nurse then added, earning a grateful smile from the mute.

He frowned, “You have welding equipment?” 

The mute shook her head and pointed to a very rusty car, falling apart in the far corner of the parking. She mouthed two words, ‘Rush’ and ‘Thermos’, apparently.

“Whatever, can you get more?” She nodded. “Good, then do it!”

The two he had sent away earlier came back with ten more volunteers. He sent half of them to get five more workers each and got the other half to tell people they had to clear the bottom level, people willing to fight should move to the third basement, where the minibus blocked the way, those willing to work should head to the fourth basement and those unwilling to do either should get out of there because this wasn’t a bloody summer camp.

As he, himself, explained it to people, the matter of secrecy began tugging at the back of his brain. They would throw out a lot of dead weight, that would be unavoidable if they wanted the resistance to function correctly, but these people would certainly hold a grudge for some, maybe even warn the Imperium of the HQ’s whereabouts… 

This parking lot, though ideal as a bunker, would only be a temporary solution.

The architects came back with tons of plans on how to build showers and latrines, most made use of the sprinklers dotting the ceiling, but Evan instead told them to look for sewers, tunnels, something they could evacuate through quickly and discreetly. 

The six volunteers he’d sent earlier reported in with twenty more workers, which Evan got to help move abandoned cars in between pillars, to form corridors and cover, bottlenecks to channel eventual invaders… A few people carried weapons, hunting rifles and pistols, he got them to take shifts in the bus in groups of four replaced every six hours by another group.

When Kevin came back two hours later, accompanied by an elderly man in a wheelchair, he found the bottom level crawling with students, engineers and volunteers seeking directions from Evan or looking for the tunnels he had asked them to find. “Not bad for a guy who just travels a lot.” 

Evan shrugged. His directions had been quite vague thus far and the only thing that made people listen to him was that there were other people already doing so. For the most part, they all did their own stuff and gave him all the credit for any idea someone in his team had.

“Well, this is Kurt, he was my instructor in the marines…” 

Kurt missed both legs and sported scars so ugly they made Evan’s look like makeup. His kind brown eyes clashed oddly with the preconception of a drill instructor, his soft tone even more so.

“Fine work, son, war brings out the best out of people, doesn’t it?”

He had heard that proverb before, though it felt wrong, somehow, altered… “Isn’t it rather ‘War brings out the worst in people?’”

“That too, it really just makes us who we really are… So, who are you really, Ivan?”

Why he was having this conversation confused the boy to no end, but he still answered truthfully, “I’ll tell you when I find out.” This was a simple re-formulation of his earlier musing, about what he would do with the money… That dilemma had taken care of itself, though…

“Good enough,” The man smiled, as though he knew something nobody else did, “the Imperials came in last night and confiscated any military-grade hardware I had. One squad and a Personnel Carrier, headed for the smelters outside the city…” LaCosta left to round up a few young men and women, “A friend of mine told me they were… Sidetracked four streets up…”

Evan looked back to the old man, “Sidetracked?” 

“Katherine’s Kittens,” the legless marine spoke, as though it would answer all of the universe’s questions, “A brothel. You’ll just need to walk in there, blow the bastard’s heads off while they’re getting blown in a totally different sense and bring back their transport, along with any weapons you can find. Only eight of the bastards, easy as pie.” 

The boy almost asked why he had been picked for that, but the answer was quite obvious. “Do you have any weapons left?”

The old man shook his head, “LaCosta has my other pistol, so unless you know how to shoot a compound bow…”

Evan smiled.

The bow Kurt gave him could be folded so as to be barely bigger than a laptop computer and it actually fit in the laptop case they burrowed on their way out. The arrows, however, were a bit harder to hide and Evan simply taped a few to his leg, under his jeans, and pretended to be limping while he, LaCosta and twelve others left the parking on foot, going their separate ways immediately upon leaving the garage. 

Kevin carried a supressed pistol, hidden in his inner pocket, but everyone else had simple knifes, switchblades, utility knifes, a few diving ones, nothing exactly glorious.


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## kavyanshrike (Sep 10, 2011)

what exactly is an orbital drop marine and how do they compare to adeptus astartes and guard?


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## JonasGrant (Sep 27, 2011)

This is one of many liberties I took with this new planet, Orbital Drop Marines are like U.S. Marines, except they are stationed in military space stations and use re-insertion pods (Lunar modules of sort) to deploy anywhere in the world. They're on par with the Imperial Guards, but way behind compared to space marines.


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## JonasGrant (Sep 27, 2011)

The building looked and smelled corrupt, even from across the street. Evan had been put on sniper duty, set up with his high tech bow on the opposite building, halfway up the fire escape. 

Of course, there’s no way he could kill the guards posted near the entrance from that alley, but that didn’t matter much because the Imperial personnel carrier had been parked in the other alley, just beyond the street, guarded by the female members of the squad.

“Three tangos by the APC…” Kevin’s voice came in from above, calm and focused though spewing nonsense.

“Whatever you say, can shoot now?”

The older man growled something about kids and video games, “Wait for the others…” 

The rest had already entered the brothel and were probably busy skewering guardsmen at that same moment, though everything looked calm from the outside, what little of it Evan could see anyway…

“Get ready, any second now.”

The bow functioned with pulleys, a far cry from the recurves Evan had learned with. It spun in his hand, unfolding with an electric buzz, and the red dot sight flickered to life a second after the first arrow was loaded.

The bows south islanders used were wooden shafts backed with leather rope, not pneumatic, electronic compound… things… Surely, though, better hardware would only make him a better shot, right?

LaCosta gave the word then and Evan got his answer: 

Nope.

“Damnit, kid! You trying to get us killed?!” 

The arrow had skidded off the asphalt about thirty meters behind the target. This, in itself, would not have been an issue, as the enemy soldiers hadn’t noticed a thing, but the others resistance members, expecting the alley to be clear, stumbled out, hauling salvaged weapons and armors around. Some of them had their hands free, but these only carried knives and they soon found themselves staring down the barrels of three laser guns.

Evan corrected his aim and let loose another arrow, this time hitting a soldier straight in the thigh. Startled, she pulled on the projectile, only to curse when blood began rushing out.

Kevin fired his pistol twice and two red flowers bloomed on another soldier’s throat. Another arrow sailed across the street and into the alley, but it plinked off the transport’s armor to then disappear into the night. The last soldier kept her rifle aimed at the doorframe, forcing the man that had opened it, both his hands filled with stolen gear, to remain motionless and in everyone else’s way.

She took a step backward, to the safety of the transport, and would be safe in another step. Evan shot again, but hit only her shoulder pad. Training took over and she turned to face the new threat, one instant, one mistake, and she was hacked apart by the rebels in the building.

The bleeding one, now on the floor, took a single shot in the angry mass of flesh and bones, only to follow her comrade’s fate. The resistance fighters quickly stashed the gear and wounded in the transport before dispersing in the purple morning light.

Kevin and Evan, their job done, carefully climbed down the metal stairs and ditched their weapons in a nearby trash container.

No sooner had Evan disposed of his last arrow that Kevin was grabbing the front of his leather jacket to slam his back against the brick wall. He brought his face so close, Evan felt like crying ‘rape!’, but then, the marine knocked him against the wall hard enough for stars to appear in the boy’s vision.

“You think this is some kind of game?” Kevin clearly did not, the left side of his face hidden in the shadows though the right one displayed barely contained anger. “Do you?” 

“N-no!” Cried the boy, trying to fuse with the wall or turn invisible. Only one of his arrows had hit, one out of, like, five. He felt like skak already and really didn’t need LaCosta to remind him of how close he’d been to get them all killed. “Look, I get it…”

He tried to pull the marine’s hands off, but was slammed against the wall once more and this time got the wind knocked out of his lungs.

The marine tried his best not to yell, that meant snarling and snarls were somehow far creepier than outright screaming, “No, you don’t! I can accept that you’re not a fighter, I respect you trying to be, but if you ever again tell me you can do something and it turns out you can’t, I’ll hurt you, understand?” 

Evan had no doubts he would, but he had not been lying, nor bragging about his archery skills, he simply did not expect… No, he should have known there would be a difference... At that moment, Evan understood; he was not being the victim of some misunderstanding, he was the victim of his own arrogance.

He nodded, shameful tears forming at corner of his eyes, “I understand, it won’t happen again, I’m…”

Kevin stepped back and silenced him with a sharp handwave, “Don’t ever apologize, looks weak. The guys look up to you, you’re a model to them, you can’t look weak.”

Anderson frowned, straightening his jacket absentmindedly, “Why would they look up to me? I didn’t kill anyone, and you came up with the plan!”

That caused the old marine to snicker, “Right, look, when you talk, people listen, not all of them, but some, and that makes you look like you know what you’re doing, that makes you a leader, maybe not a good one, but that’ll come in time, now just try to grow a few brain cells and let’s go talk to the place’s owner about waste disposal.”

Evan watched the man walk away, struggling to comprehend what he had just said, “Waste disposal?” 

Indeed, Katherine, the owner, was quite puzzled when LaCosta told her about how it would be in her best interest to get rid of the corpses and pretend nothing ever happened. They held this conversation in a pink lounge, covered to the ceiling with carpet so think it tickled Evan’s ankles.

“These soldiers weren’t supposed to be here,” the marine explained, leaning on the glass bar, “you can bet they didn’t report their location to base, all you need to do is…”

“Burry eight dead guys in my backyard?” To her credit, she did make it sound benign.

Katherine was a fiery red head at least a head and a half smaller than LaCosta, yet she dominated this situation and knew it quite well. “I can do that,” She conceded as Kevin was about to argue, “but you need to do something for me in return…”

‘Something’ turned out to be busting open a nearby detention camp, the local arena, “No questions asked, no answers given, everyone gets out or the deal’s off.”

Evan and Kevin retreated to a dark corner and pretended to talk it over. Truth be told, they both planned to say yes and just get out of there. Even if the imperials did find the corpses, they’d likely just shoot the girls and, though Evan saw it as slightly distasteful, it was none of the resistance’s business.

“Alright, you’ve got a deal!” Lied the old marine, smiling like a shark. He even shook her hand and kept smiling until he and Evan were out in the street , where his face twisted back to an angry frown.

People had come out of hiding by now and were wandering around aimlessly, some screaming names, others just looking around. The two men kept walking, to avoid drawing attention.

“Back to Kurt’s?” 

LaCosta shook his head slowly, apparently unsure himself of what to do next. “No… I reckon I want to check out that camp first, might…” he went quiet, waiting for a young couple to pass between he and Evan, then threw a glance over his shoulder before resuming, “They might not have much defenses in place yet, it’d be a good start if we can liberate these people on the first day.”

Evan most certainly agreed, but was faced with a minor issue, “We don’t have any weapons and there’s only two of us.”

Kevin nodded, then shrugged, “Let’s just take a look, you don’t have anything planned for today, do you?” 

Evan pointed to one of the public announcement boards:

General Helen Ferr, Governor-Militant of Siika, will address the planet from the Aranakian Capital. Those who wish to see the live speech may head to the Royal Amboros Theater, please…

“We can catch it on TV later,” Kevin explained, “it’s not like they’ll let you interrogate her or anything.”

Anderson just shrugged and followed.


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## JAMOB (Dec 30, 2010)

Well done mate, simply fantastic. Great concept, cant wait for more.


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## JonasGrant (Sep 27, 2011)

Hmm... Some guys pretends a world similar to ours would fall to chaos in short order and thus my story makes no sense. It seems to me Modern Earth once existed in the 40k universe and so did chaos then, yet it was not corrupted...

What do you guys think? 

Original message: ""Can't believe I'm the first to write something like this..."

Well, that's really simple. If there existed a world in the Warhammer universe that is analogous to our own it would have been consumed by Chaos or aliens a long long long time ago. So if "Siika" were truly invaded by the Imperium, the only things they'll find are demons and xenos rampaging on a barren hellscape. 

Why?

Because our civilization is mentally and emotionally very weak. If Chaos were real, Washington DC would be a Tzzentchian Citadel, the Middle East will be full of Khorne worshipers, Europe will belong to Slaanesh and Nurgle will claim all of Africa as his own. The rest will be Chaos Undivided. 

There's a reason why the Imperium is so "fascistic." It's because all the human civilizations which share the values of the real world have converted to Chaos worship or slaughtered by aliens. 

The only way Chaos will have no influence over a civilization like ours if we were all pariahs, which basically means we're large gaping targets for the Necrons. 

So going back to your story, but its premise is rather problematic. The Imperium is the way it is because of the Universe that it is in. So unless you can prove why your setting has eluded the attention of the Chaos gods, your story will just feel like wanking."

But I have learned not to trust people calling themselves 'Osama Hitler'.


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## JonasGrant (Sep 27, 2011)

Sergeant Garret and Guardsman Sonai stood on either sides of the arena’s rear entrance, motionless and quiet despite their annoyance.

The parking lot before them stretched so far they could barely see the street beyond and everyone carefully avoided the detention camp, making this the most boring assignment available on the planet.

Garret carried a las-carbine, a Catachan model, while Sonai only had his Mars-pattern lasgun. The two men seemed like the belonged to completely different armies, Sonai in his tight fitting, shining new uniform and Garret with his patchwork half carapace, half flack armor. One looked like a toy soldier fresh off the mill and the other like one that had been passed down for generations.

“Sir?” Spoke the young Guardsman, turning to look down at the bulky veteran, “Can I ask you something?”

The sergeant was about to tell the boy to stuff it, but saw something in his eyes. An intelligent question.

“Sure.” His tone got it across that he wanted this conversation short.

The boy surveyed the parking lot again, searching for words, then found the right ones, “Without the emperor’s guidance, humanity would fall to the Archenemy, would it not?” 

The veteran grunted his agreement.

“Then what about Tau auxiliaries? Or the humans of this world?” 

The sergeant shook his head slowly, “It would be better for your future if you stop thinking about it, understand?” 

The younger soldier gave a sharp nod and jumped in fright upon spotting a single man, within arm’s reach of the two. Garret had not spotter the man coming either, but he was far past the point of being startled by mere humans.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” The stranger spoke in a hushed tone, “I have spotted two shady looking fellas near the vents, around that corner…” He pointed to the western edge of the building.

Garret told the kid to stay with the man and guard the exit while he investigated, carbine aimed ahead. Ten paces separated him from the corner and he could indeed hear movement coming from around the edge. 

The guardsman hugged the wall and set his boots carefully across gravel that littered the asphalt, remaining as quiet as possible. He reached the corner undetected and snuck a quick peek before jumping out, weapon held up and ready to fire.

“Down on the ground!” He yelled to the two kids attempting to open the ventilation shaft, “Drop the hammer!” And what a hammer it was! Industrial sledge hammer, nearly a meter long with a thick titanium ring fastening the head to the plastic handle… 

The kids hesitated. He did not.

“Two trespassers shot near grid one alpha.” He reported, cold as ice, “Area secure.”

Sonai came running, lasgun hot and ready to shoot, only to find himself yelled at all the way back to the door. “I told you to guard that location, you fool!” He roared, halfway there, “if anyone got in,” He shoved the guardsman forward, noting the stranger’s absence, “If he got through that door, we’re both getting shot for incompetence!”

Once at the entrance, Garret tried to push it open. It clicked and refused to swing inward.

“Locked,” He breathed, “The Emperor was looking out for us.”

On the other side of the doorway, LaCosta released the doorknob and heaved a sigh of relief.

Evan, who had been forced to run out of cover as the second guard left, did his best not to cough out loud, instead choking in silence and clutching his ribs.

“You’re in terrible shape, kid.” LaCosta whispered after stepping away from the exit and into the pearl-white corridor. 

“Spent…” He swallowed, “Spent half a month… Half a year in a hospital bed…” Kevin offered him a hand and Anderson gladly took it, getting pulled up roughly.

“No excuse,” The marine chastised, “Survive, Adapt, Overcome… Or Die.”

Evan just raised his thumb.

“Good, then let’s move.” Kevin kept his back to the wall, trying to maintain the smallest profile possible, so Evan did the same behind him.

Twenty meters, a right turn and one set of stairs later, they found themselves in a glass booth, like those found on cranes, only wide enough to park a car inside and outfitted with microphones, cameras and televisions. Two leather chairs laid in the center of the room, behind a wooden desk that faced both the cameras and the arena.

Said arena, stretching quite far through the glass walls, was filled wall to wall with civilians, policemen and soldiers alike, all wearing whatever they had on when the Imperium rounded them up. People slept in the terraces, making their beds on the cheap plastic benches, while imperial troops camped on the ‘ice’ section of the arena, having established an actual command center, complete with electronic surveillance hardware, barbed wires and two heavy weapon positions facing the two only way onto the ice.

“That’s some nice thinking,” Kevin seemed reluctant to say so and kneeled closer to the glass to look for flaws, “Can’t reach the military section from the terrace without climbing over the fences, can’t enter the terrace without breaching the main door and the only other way in is from the vestiaries…”

He found a pen on the floor and gathered some of the sheets strewn around, most containing player backgrounds and statistics. Kevin flipped the sheets around to take notes on the flip side. “Not a detention camp…” He muttered, signaling for Evan to watch the door, “Headquarters… They use our people as meatshields… We can’t shoot inward, but they can shoot outward no problem… Clever bastards, surround themselves on purpose.”

The stairs remained silent with the exception of a lone flickering tube below.

“What should we do, then?” Evan tried to figure a way for them to sneak everyone out they way they had come, but it just didn’t seem feasible. Hell, he couldn’t seem to recall seeing a way into the arena, just that corridor and the stairs, and this room.

“Take notes, hit this place later.”

Anderson nodded and leaned back into the corridor.

0000

Back at Kurt’s place, in the underground garage, the resistance fighters had begun unpacking the weapon crates and the only thing that kept everyone from rushing in to get themselves a new toy was the massive wolf-dog and Michelle, both sitting on an ammo crate. Michelle was taking stocks, noting the content of every crate before sealing it once again.

They would soon organize patrols, raids and permanent squads, but when she had tried to give people orders, she had only been met with disdain and indifference, so now she filled paperwork and ignored them right back:

Eighteen assault rifles, twelve scoped bolt action rifles, thirty submachine guns, five heavy machine guns, forty handguns, and ten pump action shotguns. Ammunition wise, they had about three magazines’ worth for each… Oh, and five laser rifles.

“Seriously,” A man yelled from the back of the ever growing mob, “who put you in charge? We need guns if…” He pushed someone aside, “We can’t fight without weapons!”

She looked up, calm and cold, almost predatory, “Good thing you’re not supposed to fight right now.” Somebody reached for a pistol, trying to nick it unseen, but was instantly barked and growled at by the massive fur ball, the dog, that is… 

Silence fell over the crowd. Everyone expected the animal to tear the thief apart, but it simmered down as soon as the man backed away.

Kurt rolled in, crushing a few toes as he went, and parked his wheelchair in a blue square on the floor. Handicapped parking lot, just a meter ahead of the imperial transport. “People, please,” The man’s voice was soft and warm, it would not have been heard over the ruckus earlier, “I know you’re afraid, I know you think guns will keep you safe.” He nodded to the stumps he had in lieu of legs, “Believe me, it won’t,” Kurt then looked back up and spread his arms in an all-encompassing gesture. “You must trust in one-another, rely on your comrades and look after each other…” He balled his hand into a tight fist and held it up for all to see, “Fight together, work together and earn your freedom together.”

He rolled back and grabbed a K-4 Assault Carbine, along with two magazines. He was about to say something when LaCosta, stepping down the ramp with Evan in tow, yelled his own opinion from across the room, “Or you can just die alone.”

Kurt smiled at the younger marine. “Good to see you, punk, the ladies give you a hard time?” Of course, he knew nothing about the arena. As far as anyone was concerned, Kevin and Evan had just spent a few hours in a brothel.

“Yeah, but look what I found when I was down there…” Kurt took the pile of paper and looked it over briefly.

“Freddy Kendricks! My favourite major league…”

“Other side.” 

The two men seemed to goof around out of habit, completely dropping the stoic veterans front for a few seconds, then Kurt saw the intel LaCosta had gathered and became dead serious again.

The crowd began to disperse, but he rose a finger and turned to the others, “I need twenty volunteers ready for a tussle, everyone else get ready to move, things are about to get interesting.”


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## Nazrax (Apr 23, 2011)

Good stuff so far. Interesting take on the subject of the Imp taking over a world much like our own. I look forward to reading more.


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