awww yisss

fuck off we're full

Hell yeah let's goooooo

Finally catching one of these live!

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>>84882054

The following day went well, suspiciously so in Twitch's opinion; the rest of us were just glad not to have any new crises crop up on the day before our mission. The drunken old Commissar was brought along to drills again, but aside from a few Legionnaires obviously keeping tabs on us, there was no sign of the opposing force and things went smoothly. Or at least as smoothly as a round of field exercises performed while carrying a belligerent, hungover old man with the power to administer shocks directly to your spine COULD go.

The real good news was when we managed to turn up two more badges in the incoming laundry, one of them belonging to a Stormtrooper Sergeant who we'd seen on duty at the building. Counting the one in the Interrogator's stash that brought us up to six, enough to get all of us (plus Aimy or one of the Trainees) past the automated portion of the building's security. Well, at least if Tink was right about the card-slate's ability to, as he put it "clone the creds", otherwise the majority of our little strike force would probably be facing some pointed questions about why someone whose badge granted them access as a Nutrition Technician was trying to enter an evidence storage building. There was also the slight issue of the names and pictures physically printed on the cards, but having done our share of gate-guarding , we were fairly certain that nobody ACTUALLY looked at those. Probably.

In any case, we had enough cards, and while we had our Cadet overseer distracted (see: napping for half the shift), an entire hopper-load of Stormtrooper uniforms (complete with helmets and assorted neckwear) was crammed behind a dryer. With the scan-proof scarfs Tink and Twitch had made, a little pouch of supplies made from the last scraps of the fabric, and a set of vaguely official-looking orders drawn up by Doc and the ex-Scribe, the physical prep was done. All that was left to do was meet up with Aimy and hope like hell she had our intel.

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>>84882054
dare I say hype

I literally just finished re-reading the old chapters, so this is nice.

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>>84882117

The note that Aimy's messenger had passed us said she'd be in one of the storage buildings near the Commisar-y end of the base, half an hour before the evening lockdown. Being a bunch of suspicious bastards, we'd scouted the location, double checked her note to make sure that the handwriting matched and there weren't any subtle "the Commissariat is onto us" hints, and had brought our entire force along (Commissar included) just in case it was all a cunning trap. The good news was it wasn't, the bad news was that this was just because it was an extremely un-cunning one.

We spotted the large cluster of aggressively nonchalant Legionnaires, loitering in the general vicinity of our destination, from halfway across the compound. The big dumb bastard sitting on the building's front step was just a redundant redundancy. It belatedly occurred to us that firstly, passing secret notes and arranging clandestine meetings is exactly the sort of thing that the criminal underworld is known for, secondly, there might've been a thing or two we forgot to tell Aimy about our current situation, and finally, unless there was a second female cadet commissar with sororitas-white hair, she'd just entered the building. A brief confab was held (which mostly consisted of everyone taking turns blaming each other) and then Nubby, Twitch, and two of the trainees broke off to loop around while Sarge led the rest of us right into the hornet's nest.

The Big Familiar Goon gave a solid attempt at a shit-eating grin when he saw us, but the two black eyes, broken nose, and missing teeth made it a bit hard for him. He settled for some sullen glaring and a slurred command for the rest of us to stay put while Sarge was invited inside for a "liddle chad wid da Bosh".

goddamn hes back, shoggy you magnificent bastard.

someone remind me what the fuck is even going on? i remember they were in some concentration camp but then what happened?

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>>84882202

The small-ish Guard-issue prefab storage shed was, well, a Guard-issue prefab storage shed. It had a floor, walls, boxes, shelves, and (because this WAS a penal legion after all) a bunch of locking metal grates that completely failed to deter anyone armed with a screwdriver, thin piece of metal, or sufficiently strong stick. The sign next to the door sporting the words "Thieves Will Be Disemboweled With An Entrenching Tool" was presumably a more effective deterrent. Even the table bolted in the middle of the floor was Guard-issue, as were the little folding chairs around it, and the two goons flanking the entrance, and especially their freshly-sharpened entrenching tools. The at-least-half-Ogryn guarding the far door was starting the push it though, and while Aimy was technically the definition of Guard-issue, the small dapper man sitting at the table with her, sporting a striped suit and a silenced autopistol, most definitely wasn't.

The Mob Boss, because there was no imaginable way the man could be anything else, gave Sarge a look that would've been intimidating if A: Sarge hadn't spent the last few years in Inquisitorial service, and B: the man had a chin. Like, at all. It was just a steady, regular slope from his little mustache to his abnormally large Adam's-apple. It was amazing. The only thing harder than not staring was not laughing, neither of which are smart when the other guy has a gun and you don't. So, in a quiet sort of desperation, Sarge dropped the man from his awareness, and plopped into the free chair across the table from Aimy. In a tone of forced chattiness, he asked how the Markswoman's day was going, Aimy rolled her eyes.

>"Oh, you know, sitting around, being the bait in this half-assed trap, because some stupid ass dipshit couldn't bother to tell me they'd started a fucking gang war with the chinless wonder over here."

>>84882229
http://www.theallguardsmenparty.com/penal.html
Not too long to read.

>>84882229
they have like three days to break into evidence storage to unfuck everything and the local mob guys keep trying and failing to make them give laundry duty back

>>84882229
https://storage.googleapis.com/www.theallguardsmenparty.com/penal.html

Basically, the guardsmen are in a penal legion. Their interrogator got shipped off, Aimy got recruited as an 'assistant' to an asshole commissar (sourface), the party dicked around trying to get their collars off (unsuccessfully), started hanging around with a drunken idiot of a commissar (who can't remove their collars), and started a war with the criminal underground as a consequence of annexing a laundry room.

They have to swap Oak's boxes from the inquisitorial evidence warehouse with the boxes that are stashed in Aimy's evidence room. They're at the meeting trying to figure out if they can do that.

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>>84882054
Nice, I lived to see the next part. LETS GOOOOOOO!!!!!

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>>84882257

The silence that followed Aimy's little remark was a choked one, quite literally in the case of one of the goons behind Sarge, whose face was screwed up into something resembling a felid's anus. The Mob Boss attempted to simultaneously glare at both Aimy and the unfortunate goon, but even if he could have pulled it off, the delayed basso "hur, hur, hur" from the half-Ogryn ruined it. In an attempt to regain some semblance of control over the situation, the man slammed his autopistol onto the table, rounded on Sarge, and began to bark a question at the noncom. For his part, Sarge took one look at the Mob Boss, felt his eyes drag inexorably towards the area where the man's chin wasn't, and abruptly turned back to Aimy to loudly ask if she'd heard we'd gotten assigned laundry duty again.

Whether it was an effort to help Sarge in his moment of desperation, or just sheer desire to talk to someone who wasn't wearing a stupid pointy hat, Aimy responded with some inane chatter about a cadet commissar who'd somehow managed to attach a bomb-collar to himself, and the pair started trading camp gossip in the best tradition of Guardsmen everywhere. The Mob Boss and the assorted goons just sort of stared, obviously unsure of how to handle being blatantly ignored in favor of anecdotes about what Nubby found in the dumpster behind the quartermaster's tent. Eventually though, the conversation meanedred to the topic of the transfer orders Aimy had been asked to procure and where they'd wound up; the markswoman jerked a thumb at the big dumb goon and the grimy wad of papers in one of his fists, and asked what was so important about them anyway. Unfortunately, the Mob Boss took this as his cue.

Well this is a pleasant surprise

>>84882283
>>84882260
>>84882321
thankies, chat

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>>84882054
welcome back, friend

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>>84882352

In an attempt at a tone of smug authority, the Mob Boss announced that he was deeply interested in Sarge's answer as well. What possible reason could there be for a washed up ex-guardsman to be secretly meeting with Commissar Sourface's favorite pet? Sarge ignored the question, but raised an eyebrow at the word "pet". Aimy didn't actually respond, but her expression clearly conveyed her complete lack of desire to pursue the subject; instead she asked whether it was true that Twitch had tried to stab her messenger to death with a plastic spoon. Sarge began to explain that it was actually a fork, at which point the Mob Boss's patience finally ran out and he screamed at both of them to JUST SHUT UP.

After a few seconds of hyperventilating, the chinless Mob Boss made a visible effort to reclaim his whole suave villain persona. He announced that if we weren't willing to talk, then they'd better just have a look and see what was so important about the papers Aimy had been carrying. Lacking a suitably big and swivelly chair in which to lean back and menacingly tent his fingers, the mob boss settled for tilting his folding chair as far as it would go. He gestured at his goons with one hand, while using the other (the one with the LOADED GUN in it) to steady himself against the table.

There was a brief pause while the assorted goons waited to see if their boss was going to accidentally shoot someone, and then a second pause as the Big Dumb Goon drew out a rather grimy wad of papers and visibly balked at the sheer amount of words on them. With a deeply furrowed uni-brow and one finger moving along the page, the big goon began laboriously reading off the four page standard Administratum boilerplate at the head of our transfer orders. The Mob Boss sighed, started to raise his palm to his face, nearly tilted over backwards, and grudgingly yelled at the goon to skip ahead to the part where it said WHY we'd been transferred to the penal legion.

>>84882203
>>84882324
>>84882432

It's been a long time, very nostalgic to be posting again

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>check /tg/ for the first time in years on a whim
>Shoggy comes back the same day

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Welcome back man, we've missed you.

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>>84882467

In some ways the chinless Mob Boss was more clever than, well, everyone else we'd met (which is honestly pretty sad when you think about it). See, instead of shrugging off the concept of a bunch of guardsmen being sent to an INQUISITORIAL PENAL LEGION for TRAFFIC TICKETS, he started asking questions. Specifically, after his broken-nosed goon slurred out the fourth count of "Failing to Vacade in a Dimely Manner", whether there were any NON-TRAFFIC related convictions.

Both Sarge and Aimy struggled to keep their poker faces in place as, after nearly a minute of searching, the goon read off "Aiding and abeding da Rogue Inquisidor, uhhhh, some high-godic guy wid a Q name". The Mob Boss managed to keep his composure too, but Sarge could almost hear the oh-so-familiar "I'm surrounded by idiots'' as he told his man to try sounding it out. The intense focus involved in deciphering the goon's slurred speech while simultaneously keeping his chair balanced and maintaining the closest thing to a suavely-confident expression possible without an actual jawline, was probably why the man didn't notice both guardsmen casually shifting around in their seats.

When (on the fourth attempt) the henchgoon managed "Cue-R-cus, bud wid a Q", the Mob Boss' composure finally broke. He got as far as "Wait, Quercus? You mean Inquisitor BLOODY OAK? THE SAME BLOODY OAK THAT WE'VE-" only to be interrupted by a pair of sounds. One was a subtle metallic groan from the table, where Sarge's augmetic fingers had sunk up to the first joint into the surface, but this was overshadowed by a much louder and surprisingly high-pitched whee-ing noise coming from the part-Ogryn standing behind Aimy. While the Mob Boss ranted, the markswoman had casually reached one of arms behind her head, and while she didn't have quite the same crushing power of Sarge's augmetic grip, her targets were much, much softer.

>>84882584
art kicks ass

>>84882584
oh my fucking god did the inquisitor end up owning the whole camp's underground, and they were working at odds with each other the entire time?

I guess good things do still happen sometimes.

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>>84882584

Every man in the room, even the Mob Boss still balancing his stupid chair, stopped and stared in sympathetic horror as the unfortunate part-Ogryn swayed with every slight movement of the markswoman's hand. The tableau lasted a good ten seconds before Aimy delivered a final viscous twist and the giant goon toppled over like a slow-motion video of a tree falling… which gave Aimy just enough time to let out a panicked squeak as several hundred kilos of goon landed directly on top her.

The shocked pause continued, now punctuated by sobbing moans from the part-ogryn and muffled curses from underneath him, until something finally gave; specifically, the bolts holding the table's top to its base. Physics being physics, the slightly-bent metal tabletop flew off with enough force to, well, shear metal bolts. The good news for the chinless Mob Boss was that said force was in the opposite direction from him. The bad news for the two goons behind Sarge was that he still had all five augmetic digits firmly embedded in the table's surface, and was pivoting with every ounce of force and weight his beefy noncom frame could muster. The whirring square of metal wasn't razor edged, but it still had more than enough sheer mass to crumple the chest of the goon who didn't duck in time, and seriously concuss the one who nearly did.

According to Sarge's vaguely-defined plan, the bloody tabletop of justice should've continued its arc and smashed into the Mob Boss right where his chin wasn't, literally decapitating the whole criminal organization in a single blow. Unfortunately tables aren't exactly known for being high precision weapons, and neither was Sarge for that matter. Outside, Doc, Tink, the trainees, and a score of assorted goons all flinched as the shed's door blew off its hinges and a ballistic table wobbled overhead like a badly thrown frisbee. There was a pause, followed by a screech of "Waste 'em!" and the sound of someone panic-firing a silenced autopistol.

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>>84882613
Honestly wouldn't be surprised

>>84882608
Yeah one of my favorite character shots, that guy's whole set is great.

https://imgur.com/gallery/AK7yHdg

>>84882613
>>84882643
Well, SOMEONE did...

>>84882639
>let out a panicked squeak
"My Little Markswoman can't be this Cute" is going to be a Tau cartoon if she's not careful.

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>>84882698
>>mother of god

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>>84882639

The ensuing brawl had two distinct parts. Outside, Doc and Tink jumped one of the two exterior door guards, while the ex-Cleric and Guardsman did for the other, but by the time both goons were down a perimeter had formed around the group, with the shed door in the no-man's-land in between.

Things then stalled for a bit. On one side this was because Doc and Tink's group was outnumbered 4-to-1 (and that was counting the snoring Commissar mind you). On the other side it was because, well, they outnumbered Doc and Tink's group 4-to-1, so there was no reason why THEY had to be the first one to jump in and catch a wrench to the jaw. Far better to go second, or third, or maybe just stay at the back yelling "yeah" and "get them" until it was time to loot the corpses. This is, of course, why Sergeants were invented, but the goons seemed to be rather short on those, so the fight stalled out while everyone just stood there and listened to the shouts and thumps coming from the shed. Per long-standing narrative tradition, the standoff was broken by a thrown bottle.

Said bottle's contents were a matter of debate, which is to say: Twitch felt it should've contained 90% alcohol, a gelling agent, and a burning rag, while Nubby and the Trainees had argued in favor of something that wouldn't draw the attention of every Commissar in the camp, including the ones manning the inwards-facing heavy stubbers up on the walls. In the end, the demo-trooper had settled for a mix of the floor and drain cleaners he'd liberated from the laundry's supply closet, which didn't have quite the same effect as a proper molotov, but still left three men coughing and clawing at their eyes as Twitch and Nubby's group mounted their charge.

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>>84882738

The inside portion of the brawl was, if possible, even less organized.

While Sarge's opener had done a number on the entrenching-tool armed goons behind him, it not only failed to remove the Mob Boss' autopistol from the equation, it hadn't even upset the man's balance. On the bright side, it's rather hard to simultaneously balance a chair on two legs, accurately fire a gun, and scream in terror as an enraged noncom throws himself towards you. This meant Sarge only took two of the four shots sent his way as he closed to melee range, and he managed to dodge two more through the masterful strategy of tripping over one of the concussed goon's feebly twitching legs and falling flat on his face. Sarge still managed to make a grab for the autopistol on his way down, and almost certainly would've snagged the weapon if the Mob Boss hadn't chosen that exact moment to finally teeter over backwards.

So on one side of the room there was Aimy still struggling to claw her way out from under the moaning Goon-gryn. On the other, one door guard was busy coughing blood while his companion stared vaguely around the room and tried to remember how his legs worked. So with both Sarge and the Mob Boss lying on the floor, that meant the only person in the room still standing was the Big Dumb Goon.

Fortunately, the man lived up to his name, and didn't immediately sprint over and start stomping on Sarge's head. Instead he took a few seconds to cram the transfer orders in a pocket and grab one of the fallen entrenching tools, before slowly swaggering his way across the room while thumping the tool in his hand and doing the best evil-goon-laugh he could manage with a broken nose. He was rather surprised when Sarge decided not to just lie there waiting for his skull to be caved in, and grabbed the nearest available weapon: the Mob Boss' folding chair.

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>>84882778

Once again, Sarge spun around in a blur of metal, blood, and simmering noncom rage, and where the Bloody Tabletop of Justice failed, the Equally-Bloody Folding Chair of Vengeance did the trick. The Big Dumb Goon blinked as the entrenching tool abruptly vanished from his hand along with most of the sensation in that arm. Next to him, the now re-concussed door guard flopped over in a boneless heap, and a little farther along the Chinless Mob Boss staggered to his feet and raised the autopistol just in time for the chair to sail under it, hit him square in the center of mass, and ragdoll him into the far wall.

The Mob Boss wasn't the first thing to hit the wall though, he was beaten there by Aimy thanks to a flailing Ogryn-sized boot to the backside right as the markswoman finally managed to claw her way out from under its owner. Aimy opened her eyes to find the room upside down and a ballistic Mob Boss bearing down on her, and immediately closed them again. When she re-opened them, the sight of a silenced autopistol pointed directly at her nose refocused her attention nicely, and after taking a second to see if the owner was going to pull the trigger, the markswoman lunged for the gun.

At roughly the same moment as Aimy reached the autopistol, the Goon-gryn finished climbing to his feet, and no-longer blocked by his bulk, the room's rear door burst open to admit four legionnaires equipped with knives and entrenching tools. Aimy attempted some quick math involving the autopistol's clip size, the number of shots fired, and how many more goons were likely to be on the way, and then settled for pressing the gun against the limp Mob Boss' head and screaming at everyone to freeze. There was a tense silence, broken only by a sort of wet and crunchy sound from the man's neck-chin hybrid as the gun's barrel pushed his head over sideways. And then farther sideways, and farther, and farther…

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>>84882846

Outside, the fight had stalled out again. The Mob Boss' shouted command and Twitch and Nubby's surprise attack had briefly escalated things, but without any real leadership present (on either side) everyone's self preservation instincts had taken over. The good news was that our little force had managed to steadily creep towards the door over the course of the brawl, and Doc was able to take a peek at the mess inside and relay the situation while the rest of us covered his back.

Mind you, the angle of the door meant that Doc couldn't see the wall where Aimy and the Mob Boss had landed, or even as far as where Sarge was desperately trying to remain on his feet for that matter, so from the rest of our perspectives what followed was a bit confusing. First someone yelled "FREEZE", then someone else yelled "DEY WHACKED DA BOSS!", and then there'd been a long pause as everyone looked at the Big Dumb Goon. Doc described, for all present, a dawning expression of "uh, sort of like one of those little smashed faced bug eyed dogs slowly realizing it's been left unattended next to a steak dinner and trying to figure out what to do next." Further commentary was cut off as the Big Dumb Boss pointed a finger and began to yell something, only to be interrupted himself by an ear-ringing, window-rattling, parade-ground bellow of:

>"COMMISSAR DOWN! PRISONER RIOT IN THE STORAGE SHEDS!"

It's impressive that "well that escalated quickly"can happen multiple times in such a short window.

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>>84882908

Needless to say, Sarge's decision to call the entire bloody Commissariat down on us caught everyone by surprise, including Sarge. What exactly was SUPPOSED to have happened next was a mystery (which he later blamed on the fact that he'd been a bit busy and, you know, shot). What DID happen was that everyone present, with the exception of the abruptly awakened old Commissar, froze in place as the guards up on the walls started yelling to eachother and the spotlights mounted on their heavy stubbers began playing across the surrounding area. Then an alarm began to blare from the direction of the command building and the Big Dumb Boss screamed at his men to kill us and hide the bodies before the red-coats arrived while he handled the "Old Man", and then valiantly sprinted past his reinforcements and out the backdoor.

Doc relayed this all to the rest of the group, and by extension, all of the surrounding goons too. There were a few seconds of thoughtful silence, punctuated by the occasional meaty thump and silenced auto-pistol shot from inside, not to mention the distinct non-sound of nearly a third of the goons not-having-been-anywhere-near-there tonight sir, no, sir… And then the remaining two thirds charged.

Within a few seconds Twitch and two of the trainees were bleeding, Doc was being pulled up out of a muddy faceplant by another trainee, Nubby was casually sidling towards the crawl-space under the shed, and Tink had been viscously bottled in the back of the head by the Old Commissar.

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>>84882945

Inside, Sarge looked around fruitlessly for any more readily weaponizable furniture, and then swore and threw himself into a downright impressive dive for the fleeing Boss. His subsequent combat roll under three out of four wildly swinging entrenching tools and smashing through two pairs of legs would've been more impressive if the leg's hadn't belonged to Aimy's chair… The resulting confused half-chair half-noncom wrecking ball smashed into the wall next to the door and slid to the floor, where it alternated between bleeding, swearing, and trying to bludgeon the ankles of the four confused reinforcement goons.

Aimy missed all this, on account of the half-Ogryn trying to rip her head off. Well, more determinedly waddling towards her with his knees held tightly together, but there was no questioning the murderous rage in those piggy little eyes. So the markswoman dropped the Mob Boss' corpse, took aim, and placed an autopistol round directly into the half-Ogryn's forehead. Her expression when the bullet bounced off with a little hollow bonk and weee-owwww sound would've been amusing if anyone had the attention to spare.

In panicked reflex, Aimy flipped the fire selector to auto and tried again. Two of the six sub-sonic rounds wound up in the ceiling, one hit the dead mob-boss, and the remaining three just stopped, firmly embedded in the half-Ogryn's forehead as the big guy kept coming. There was another moment of panic as Aimy realized she had somewhere between 1 and 3 bullets left, and (if she crawled fast) about 10 seconds in which to use them. Fortunately the Markswoman's training kicked in before she ran out of either, and she belatedly shifted her aim downwards. The half-Ogryn's eyes widened and he clapped both his hands over his groin, only to keel over to the side as Aimy shot out his left knee with her last two bullets instead. She then swore as the big bastard just started crawling towards her.

>>84882054
Oh shit, welcome back mang

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>>84883036

In the middle of this chaotic little melee, math was happening. Well, not "math" per se, Tink had a bit of a concussion, so it was more vaguely-math-shaped blobs slowly drifting across his brain like fuzzy little clouds as he desperately tried to stay upright. It involved X Goons, Y Guardsmen, and Z seconds until the Commissariat arrived, and Z was worryingly large. He vaguely looked around, registering an entire drop-shuttle's worth of of Real Bad Shit, and the considerably-less-than-Z seconds left before it really started Going Down.

Tink's gaze finally landed back on the old Commissar, indiscriminately menacing everyone nearby with the jagged remains of the bottle he'd just broken over Tink's head. In a flash of inspiration, the techie pulled out the Commissar's dataslate, ducked under the wildly swinging bottle, grabbed the man's "non-drinkin" hand, and jammed the greasy, sausage-fingered paw down onto the dataslate's Big Red Button. He then flopped to the ground, flailing around like a fish, as his Penal Legion Discipline collar replaced his nervous system with white-hot razor wire.

Whatever the Big Dumb Boss had done to slow down the arrival of the Commissariat must have worked, because it was a solid (and very unpleasant) two more minutes before the relief force finally arrived, and found Aimy and the Old Commissar surrounded by spasticly-twitching Legionnaires.

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>>84883068

The pointy-hats arrived in two distinct groups. The first one consisted of the old sour-faced bastard, backed up by his entire retinue of Cadets, and with the Big Dumb Boss nervously lurking right behind him, you know, just to make things obvious. Or he was lurking, until he crossed the invisible 50-meter radius around our Commissar's dataslate and abruptly flopped over into the mud like the rest of us. Sour-Face actually stopped for him, or at least to give him a few kicks, before grumpily taking out his own dataslate and tapping in an override command. We all enjoyed a brief second of blessed relief, and then the collars reactivated as the drunk old bastard mashed his thumb back down on the panic button while stubbornly glaring at his counterpart.

Nobody except Aimy was in any condition to appreciate the ensuing pissing match. She described it as "a struggle of wills worthy of story and fucking song" and gleefully recounted Sour-Face's expression when he finally stomped across the field to wrest the dataslate away… just in time for the second group of Commissars to arrive and ask what in the Emperor's name he was doing.

The second Commissariat relief force was led by our two depressed Cadets, who had the familiar look of people desperately hoping that whatever was going on wasn't their fault. Rather more importantly, it was also commanded by the Commandant, who, since Aimy had apparently scheduled our meeting during some big distracting brass-brief, had brought along a nice big audience of senior officers for the good ol' public reaming that followed.

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>>84882054
WOOOOOOOO

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>>84883155
Maybe every diplomatic situation could be improved by shock collars...
But no one is willing to try.

>>84882054
i never gave up hope, im glad you are back and i appreciate all the work you do making this!

Toasting in epic bread. I gotta read the other chapters and catch up before this thread finishes

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>>84883155

Now, it didn't start as a reaming: getting caught mid-slapfight with another Commissar might've been a bit undignified, but was perfectly understandable to anyone who'd actually met our Commissar. The point where the "discussion" escalated happened pretty quickly though, roughly five choked seconds after Aimy identified herself as "Cadet Von-Humpeding" to be exact; she didn't even get a chance to start lying about what happened. The expression on the Commandant's face just sort of congealed, and then started reddening as he looked between Aimy and the grumpy old Commissar, until he finally exploded into full-on screaming rage.

Like all properly epic reamings, this one had evidently been building up for a good long while. The gist was that Sour-Face did NOT run this camp and the Commandant was well and truly done with his "bullshit little power games", but the fine details went on at length. Once or twice the old bastard tried to interrupt with stuff about this being the right time and place, but the Commandant wasn't having ANY of that, and just kept on going, all while our drunk old Commissar watched on with sort of vindictive glee. The rest of us were more focused on getting our shit together now that the collars were finally turned off, and figuring out how to talk our way out of this when the Commandant got around to asking questions.

For like the sixteenth time, our asses were saved by our former trainees. The ex-scribe and cleric had been thinking down exactly the same lines as Tink, but had the forethought to actually put on their scan-proof scarf-thingies first. Then when Tink beat them to the punch, they'd then been smart enough not to walk around and get noticed. Now they were up on their feet, helping Aimy collect everyone and providing someone who was NOT Sarge to handle the talking.

>>84883229

I feel like I should point out that Sarge failed absolutely zero diplomacy/blather checks this chapter. Will, Int, and Don't Fuck Up checks on the other hand....

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>>84883302

Our Drunk Old Commissar's attention was seized via a dose of stimm and the offer of a fresh bottle. We got his gaze focussed on the general vicinity of Aimy, who was actually TRYING to look like a grateful rescue-ee, and then a very edited version of the last several minutes was "remembered" to him. We weren't sure how much really sank in, but the idea that he might have done something heroic definitely seemed to have been established, and he seemed nearly coherent by the time the ex-Cleric unsubtly asked how much it would annoy Sourface if Aimy were to become one of HIS Cadets.

Eventually, the raging Commandant brought us all back to "THE PRESENT SERIES OF TOTALLY FORESEEABLE, EASILY PREVENTABLE, COMPLETELY SELF-INFLICTED FRACK-UPS." On cue, Aimy stepped forward again to give her report, and then surprised the shit out of us with this sudden spiel of High Gothic in this weird sort of bossy nasal drawling accent. It honestly sounded nothing like her, well, not the bossy part, more the baked-in tone of aristocratic arrogance... that and the lack of profanity.

In any case, whatever Aimy had just said, at least half of the commissars present understood it, judging by the expression of dawning horror as they all looked from her to our nearly-coherent Commissar. To our amazement, the man actually SAT UP, and then slurred… something. In the best traditions of overly-competent subordinates and evil royal advisers, the Cleric translated an acceptance of Aimy's "life debt", as well as a request that the Commandant allow him to take over her training. The Commandant just stared, his eyes bugging out slightly and mouth hanging open, until the old Commissar broke the silence.

>"Caush she's got nishe tits!"

Aimy maintained her pokerface, and nodded in agreement with this sage wisdom.

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>>84883376

While everyone else in the audience (the word definitely qualified at this point) tried to figure out what to say after THAT, Commissar Sour-face smugly pointed out that the old drunk already had his maximum of two Cadets. The Commandant, visibly relieved to have something else to occupy his attention, rounded on the man with a bellow of "YES, TWO, NOT TWELVE! TELL ME, CAN YOU COUNT TO TWELVE!? LET'S PRACTICE ON THOSE CADETS BEHIND YOU! 1! 2! 3!"

Before the reaming could really get going again, we gave our Commissar a firm poke. The man abruptly interrupted the raging Commandant, and in something very near to complete sentences, announced that his current pupils were doing so well that they were ready to return to regular training rotation. The appallingly hopeful expressions that suddenly seized the two Cadets' faces was something to see, as was the Commandant's when Sour-face interrupted yet again.

Showing an absolute inability to take a hint, the vindictive bastard snidely pointed out that our Commissar didn't even know what his Cadets looked like, much less whether they were fit for duty. This time the Commandant actually paused to consider the inarguably valid point, which gave the two Cadets time to solve the problem by running over to their chair-bound superior and desperately saluting him. Our Commissar surveyed the sweating pair with vindictive glee, and then jabbed a finger at one of them-

"Yeah, dish one here, havint caught im with any more porno-slates of Felinid guardswomen since-"

The Commandant cleared his throat and asked if he meant Cadet Yuriev, and was informed that "I calls im Yiffy, cause the porno-slates of the-" before the blushing Cadet in question loudly thanked his superior for his support, and ran for the barracks. The other Cadet, an expression of desperate optimism on his face, pointed out that the Commissar had said BOTH of them were ready, and got shot down with a "Shaddup Sniffy".

>>84882054
PUT THAT SHIT IN MY VEINS

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>>84883376
Good on ya, old fella.

AGP is what got me into 40K and I have to thank you for that. Your work is amazing.

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>>84883512

After a few seconds of croggled silence, the Commandant just nodded at Aimy, and then we seized our chance and made a tactical withdrawal under cover of Sour-face's attempt to snap-graduate eleven of his Cadets into full Commissars, and the Commandant's enraged response. A miserable-looking Cadet "Sniffy" started to come with us, but Aimy's cheerful (yes CHEERFUL) insistence that she wouldn't have any trouble taking care of the Commissar by herself cheered him up immensely and he buggered off. The old Commissar was also cheered by Aimy's declaration, and insisted she ride up on the pallet with him where he could "keep an eye on her". She handed him a fresh bottle instead, which he accepted as a decent substitute.

After a short detour to the medical tents to Commissarialy requisition some supplies, we returned to our barracks for our traditional post-battle "discuss what the hell just happened while Doc removes foreign objects from Sarge". Aimy was introduced to the trainees without any hair-related acrimony, the Commissar was tucked away into a corner with a fresh night-cap, and a round of drinks was brought out while we caught our prodigal markswoman up on events. For her part, Aimy didn't volunteer any details about her time in the Commissariat, and nobody aside from Nubby was dumb enough ask.

>>84883527

That always amazes me to hear. Glad you're enjoying the setting.

>>84883525

He definitely in our top 5 favorite NPCs, even if we only got him for the one mission.

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Is it wrong that I'm so used to hearing these in tts that I'm going to wait for that? Am I a degenerate normal?

>>84883611
>>84883527
I'm the same way. Mechanicus heresy necron disappearance chapter got me to read Titanicus and I took off from there

>>84883376
this is pretty nice art
and those are nishe tits

>>84883612
>Am I a degenerate normal?
Yes.

>>84883376
Is it terribly wrong of me to say that I mentally heard that in Sean Connery's accent?

>>84883512
Wait so did one of them get promoted to regular commissar, or were they let go to 'normal trooper' status?

>>84883726
looks like just taken off of the metaphorical latrine duty and back to regular cadet training

>>84883376
Damn near pissed myself.
You still got it shoggy.

>>84883747
Ohhh, okay

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>>84883579

When Nubby had been retrieved from his defenestration, and Doc pronounced Sarge sufficiently patched up for both of them to grab a (single) drink, the subject of our upcoming infiltration was raised.

With Aimy, everything seemed almost too easy. We no longer needed to worry about the time-limit on our collars, since she'd be able to go get a cadet dataslate first thing in the morning and bring it inside with us. We didn't need to worry about those stupid room codes that the Big Dumb Mob Boss had ran off with either, since she'd just be able to grab the Commissariat's copy of our transfer orders while she was there. Best of all, we now had a legitimate reason to go into the evidence storage facility: to go get her stuff.

Overall, the day was declared to have been a resounding strategic success (a term Sarge flinched at), even if nobody, not even our former trainees, believed any of it had been intentional. Even the old Commissar was in high spirits, especially about Aimy bunking in our barracks, and repeatedly insisted on being wheeled back into the conversation to regale his new cadet with slurred ramblings about his glorious former career.

Our good mood lasted until reveille, or to be more specific, thirty seconds after reveille was supposed to happen. The lack of several dozen vox units blaring the traditional distorted approximation of horns (played by equally distorted approximations of musicians), had Sarge sitting bolt upright and considerably more awake than their presence ever had. After patiently waiting an entire minute to see if it was just late, he bawled the rest of us upright, and a reconnaissance expedition was launched.

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Breaking real quick for food, back in a bit

>>84883706

So long as it's the really bad SNL version, you're golden.

>>84883865
No joke, that happened to me once when I was living on base.
As it turns out, it was not a set recording at a time, as we thought, and is a button physically pressed by someone.
A couple guys used it as an excuse as to why they were late for PT, and got the whole spiel from our ornery sergeant, about how it is not someone else's job to wake their ass up.
That day became a run day. Thanks, Gonzalez...

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For pacing reasons, a bunch of Commissar Kelly's backstory was left out. I recycled it into some imgur posts a while back, if your curious about drunk old NPCs.

It were CAIN'S REGIMENT!
https://imgur.com/gallery/evqam6e

Commissar Kelly's Last Stand
https://imgur.com/a/gRvnEUq

Posting resumes.

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>>84883865

The camp was quiet, primarily populated by the few other life-long soldiers in the legion nervously whispering to each other about the unexpected break in routine. There was a small crowd gathering at the mess tent, but aside from that the only visible activity was around the command building and commissars' barracks. On closer inspection this activity seemed to involve a lot of boxes being taken out to the shuttlepad, and the realization of the only likely explanation hit us all at once: the Penal Legion was being deployed.

Aimy was immediately sent in along with the still-snoring Commissar (for moral support), and returned a short time later with Cadet Sniffy in tow. The morose cadet seemed to have reached a whole new level of despair, and mostly just whined about how everyone except him, Aimy, and the two old Commissars would be moving out. Aimy and the trainees tried to prod him for more details, specifically details about the daily details and if they'd still be happening. They weren't having much luck until Sarge stepped forward, pulled the Commissar's dataslate out of his chair, and handed it to the ex-Scribe with directions to just transfer the little turd. Sniffy sniffed, and pointed out that he wasn't an idiot and had tried that on his first day: the Commissar's dataslate didn't have permissions to do anything more than a cadet's, for obvious reasons.

Still though, this show of good faith won some grudging cooperation from the Cadet. His remaining reluctance evaporated completely when Sarge and the ex-PDF trooper pulled the young man aside, and pointed out that Aimy wasn't the sort of noble scion to forget a favor, and neither was her mother. A decidedly un-subtle hint that if Sniffy helped us with our little "laundry run" he might get his longed for transfer sooner, perhaps even today, was enough to win him over completely.

>>84884200
So the commissars were blamed for losing the regiment, or pissing off the inquisition?

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>>84884214

With the downright eager assistance of Cadet Sniffy it was established that there wasn't an official schedule for work details, since the embarkation would be starting that afternoon. Fortunately, there wasn't anything scheduled at all until then, so if we cleared it with the perimeter commander, we could presumably go whenever we wanted. He wasn't exactly clear why Aimy, or the rest of us, wanted to go do laundry so bad, but he definitely wasn't someone to look a potential gift-horse in the mouth. Aimy requisitioned him as combination guide and Commissar-pallet-pusher, and went off to get approval, a dataslate, our transfer orders, and "a damn gun".

By the time Aimy returned, sans Sniffy, the camp was in a quiet uproar as the rumor of imminent deployment spread like wildfire. Under-occupied legionnaires milled around speculating about what sort of meat-grinder awaited them, and trading gossip about the death of the mob boss and Commissar Sour-face's very public fall from grace the previous night. Under the cover of all this, nobody even noticed us until our whole group had made it to the main gate, where a distracted pair of cadets waved us through without even checking Aimy's proffered dataslate.

Once in the laundry building, preparations began in earnest. Doc and most of the trainees went to do a quick scout of the freight bay to make sure we could still use it as our exit, and to cadge the name of the next shift's commander if possible. The Commissar, napping peacefully thanks to a pre-emptive sedative from Doc's limited supply, was parked in the corner with Tink, who was prepping a laundry cart with our uniforms and supplies. While the ex-Scribe briefed Aimy on the front-door security procedures she'd be talking us through, the rest of us did a load of laundry.

Or at least we started to do a load, until our collars all suddenly activated at max power and someone kicked in the door.

>>84884289
Oh no

>>84884262

I believe they are officially "held pending the Inquisitor's pleasure", the fact that said Inquisitor hasn't been seen for the better part of a century, and may not have ever actually existed, makes this a very long-term posting.

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>>84884289

Commissar Sour-Face practically radiated smugness as he strode into the room, one hand holding his dataslate while the other kept his bolt-pistol trained on Aimy. He was alone for a change, not that it seemed to bother him as he snidely reminded Aimy that Rule Number Three was "no weapons'' and gestured at her to disarm. For her part, the markswoman stood stock-still, glaring at the man with more hatred than any of us had ever seen before, not that we were in any condition to see it right then either.

After several seconds of futile stalling, Aimy grudgingly parted with her newly-acquired laspistol and chainsword, earning her a rage-inducing "good girl" from the smug Commissar. Her dataslate came next, though it was already showing an "unauthorized user" message on its screen, and the whole lot was kicked out the door, which was kicked shut in turn. Surprisingly, he then holsted the pistol, swapping it for his damn dataslate and gloatingly holding his finger over the "execute" button as he surveyed the room full of twitching guardsmen. He snidely reminded Aimy that there was a reason the regulations forbade "fraternizing" with the rabble, not that he believed that's what we actually were. Then, to our collective amazement, the man started monologuing.

It quickly became apparent that Sour-face wasn't any more hinged than our Commissar, at least judging by his rant about how Aimy was going to be his ticket out of there, one way or another. And we were in position to judge, because inside the laundry hamper Tink had fallen into when his collar activated, the techie had finally managed to wrangle the anti-scan bag around his collar. It was sheer luck more than anything else that he wasn't spotted as he poked his head up to survey the situation, and even luckier that the exact two tools he needed were right there next to him.

>>84882054
Holy shit, I actually caught one of these live.

"...I shall listen for your call in whatever realm of death holds me, and I shall come, no matter what the laws of life and death forbid. At the end I will be there. For the final battle. For the Shogtime."

>>84884200
>No... the P regimen'
Perlia or Periremunda are the two choices for that.
And Cain was technically an instructor/leader at the Schola Progenium on Perlia, after he had previously been the militia leader on said same planet, so that could be two for that planet alone.

The boy got around a bit.
Either way, your GM has rite to switch it as needed/forgotten, which is a solid call for covering his ass in case it ever comes up again.

>>84882054
Wait what the fuck I thought it died years ago

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>>84884362

While Aimy desperately kept herself still and the Commissar ranted about not-so-former Inquisitorial agents thinking they were smarter than him, Tink grabbed our Commissar's dataslate, carefully set it for the lowest shock setting, and overrode the previous command. Down on the floor, we all gained a newfound appreciation for that lowest collar setting, and did our best to catch our breath without blowing our cover, while Tink dug out the silenced autopistol we'd appropriated last night and took careful aim.

The Commissar was too wrapped up ranting at Aimy about how he'd beaten the Inquisition at their own game to notice anything until the autopistol hit him in the forehead. As in literally, with a little metallic bonk, because we hadn't managed to grab any ammo for the damn thing... Honestly, it was a mystery why we'd even brought it. In any case, even if Tink didn't have the same sort of lethal throwing arm as Sarge (and had actually been aiming for the dataslate in the Commissar's hand), the pistol's impact butt-first into the man's forehead gave us the opening we needed.

Actually, the impact itself barely even fazed the Commissar, it was the second or so of confusion as he brought up the dataslate and fruitlessly tried to find Tink's collar on its display that gave Aimy enough time to lunge for the man's neck. Not that Aimy's attack went any better than Tink's; the crazy old Commissar was fast, far faster than someone his age had any right to be in our opinions. Aimy's lunge abruptly changed direction as the man spun out of the way, grabbed one of her reaching arms, and threw her across the room accompanied by the audible pop of a dislocating shoulder-joint. However, this in turn gave Twitch enough time to act, and one of his home-made chem grenades smashed against the Commissar's chest.

>>84884262
The commissars (specifically sourface) decided to mess with the inquisition by saying the regiment couldn't be released on short notice.

Regrettably, the entire regiment 'deserted' shortly afterward, and there was of course no record of the inquisition having anything to do with it.

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>>84884440
It has returned from the dead praise be

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>>84884447

Amazingly, even getting doused in whatever cocktail Twitch put in those things wasn't enough to do more than slow the crazy old bastard. The Commissar reeled backwards, holding his breath and keeping his eyes closed until he was clear, and then abruptly turned and put his boot into the ex-Scribe's face mid-tackle. Nubby's own lunge fared a bit better thanks to his shock-proof augmetics, carrying him over the face-planted trainee and directly towards the Commissar's face, only for the man to snatch him by the collar mid-air, and hurl the little trooper across the room. It was when he realized that Nubby was holding his precious dataslate that the man started to panic.

The Commissar immediately reached for both his pistol and chainsword, but didn't manage to draw either before Sarge's shoulder-check hit him in much the same way a Flyrant hits a dumb Scout Marine. The impact as the pair hit the industrial-scale laundry units was quite literally bone-shattering, and while Sarge managed to stagger upright on his third attempt, the crazy old bastard stayed down for the count.

By the time Doc's group returned a convenient minute later, we'd retrieved everyone from their assorted hard landings, disarmed the apparently unconscious Commissar, and opened some windows before we all choked on weaponized cleaning agents. Our medic was not exactly thrilled to find himself dealing with yet another round of collar-burns, not to mention the ex-Scribes badly broken nose, Aimy's dislocated shoulder, and Sarge's self-inflicted concussion. On the bright side, the scouting mission had gone fine, and our acquisition of Commissar Sour-face's unrestricted control dataslate opened up some interesting opportunities, assuming Tink could get it to work for him that is.

THE MAN! THE MYTH! THE LEGEND!

SHOGGY!!!

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>>84884507

The Commissar's dataslate had locked itself the second it left his hands, and was now demanding both a biometric authorization and access code. Per usual, Tink claimed this was easy to bypass, or would have been if he had all his stuff, but lacking those he'd just see what he could do with our Commissar's slate and a screwdriver. After several minutes of poking at the thing and ignoring helpful suggestions from Twitch and Nubby, he informed us we had a choice. The techie was fairly sure that he could get around the access code by restarting the dataslate, leaving just the biometric lock, problem was the dataslate was still broadcasting its normal signal to our collars, and restarting would disable that. If he was wrong we'd lose the signal, and since Aimy's dataslate was completely disabled, that'd leave us short...

Sarge, Doc, and Twitch all listened to Tink's explanation and pondered the problem, while Aimy flexed her re-located arm, and stalked off to retrieve her gear. After several seconds, Sarge broke up the discussion, and asked Tink just how sure "pretty sure" was, and whether anyone had checked if the slate's biometric lock was one of the fancy ones that could tell if the user was conscious or not. In the background, there was the high pitched whine of a chainsword activating, followed by a short terrified scream, and then the sort of grisly rending sounds and screaming typically associated with Khornate Space Marines.

Twitch told everyone that he'd known the guy was faking being unconscious, and Tink suggested that it would probably be better just to leave the slate on.

>>84884575
Did Aimy just murder commissar?

>>84884597
Nah. She just needed a hand with something.

>>84884610
Oh okay.

>>84884597
>>84884610
>>84884613
Specifically his left hand. And right hand. And left leg. And...

Regrettably, Sourface is left without a leg to stand on, he doesn't have a good head on his shoulders, and his hands are rather full.

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>>84884575

Nubby was dispatched to find a mop while the rest of us got back to work on the mission prep and laundry, and Sarge did a mental wellness check on our hyperventilating markswoman. Which is to say, he asked Aimy if she was feeling better, got a "Yes", asked if she wanted to talk about it, got a "No", and then shrugged and yelled at her to clean her uniform. Aimy blushed.

Once the load was done, our laundry hamper was prepped, and the Commissar's remains had been scraped into a laundry hamper of its own, Sarge gave the order to move out. The trainees went off to the freight entrance with the bin full of fresh-diced-Commissar and the man's dataslate, with directions to keep our exit open and make sure nothing important got accidentally incinerated mid-mission. The rest of us, still wearing our Penal Legion uniforms except for Aimy, formed up around our laundry trolley and the Commissar's pallet, and went right in the front door.

The lobby of the Mundane Evidence Storage Building wasn't particularly impressive, consisting primarily of a drab little carpeted room with a few uncomfortable chairs and a recaff machine that had last been cleaned sometime during the Horus Heresy. The security checkpoint immediately past it was rather more impressive, what with all automated gun emplacements and cybermastiff kennels lining the airlock-esque scan room leading into the building proper. The terminally bored Inquisitorial Stormtroopers manning the checkpoint were equally impressive, at least until they registered our decidedly non-Inquisitorial appearances, and brought out the recaff mugs they'd stashed out of sight when the door opened.

Rather than wait to be asked what in the Emperor's name we thought we were doing there, we rolled the cavalcade past the door sentries and into the scan room, where Aimy stepped forward and announced that she was there to "Get her shit".

Am I good to read the whole thing on the website, or I have to search through suptg?

>>84884637
I think Nubby is a bad influence on her. I recall the biometric scanner in the crime lord's mansion getting a guard felling to pieces over opening it.
>Nubby turned up with a blood-soaked ID card along with a few other options. It turned out there wasn't actually a palm or retinal reader, but we did applaud his effort.

>>84884655
http://www.theallguardsmenparty.com/
It's all there, though you can read the archives if you want to see spergs sperg out while you read.
It's homey.

>>84884649
did aimy get so turned on by mutilating the commissar that she came instantly???

>>84884677
anon has never experienced the sweet catharsis of brutally chainsawing your shitty boss to death

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>>84884649

The Stormtrooper Sergeant manning the little desk just inside the scan room eyeballed our spokeswoman in appropriately sergeanty fashion, but dropped the act when she added "And deliver some laundry". The sight of a bin of freshly cleaned uniforms, topped with a massive heap of still-warm socks and underwear, caught the immediate attention of every Stormtrooper present like, well, a load of clean socks. It's a soldier thing.

Unfortunately for the grunts on duty, Aimy wasn't willing to part with her laundry-bribe, at least not without a signed receipt, specifically from the next shift's CO. These being orders from her vaunted superior (currently snoring on the pallet), Aimy wasn't willing to budge on the issue, leaving the Stormtrooper Sergeant trapped between two equally valid maxims about letting sleeping Commissars/Officers lie. On cue, Sarge suggested leaving the laundry-bribe somewhere secure (see: the nearest security breakroom) while Aimy's other request was dealt with, and a signature could be obtained on the way out.

Sarge's pointed interjection earned him some eyeballing of his own, but for once his Diplomacy training paid off. A simple grunt of "Ex-Stormtrooper", a gesture at all of us with a second grunt of "Unit", and a final grunt of "bullshit Inquisitorial power politics" was enough to elevate our collective status from "scum" to "poor bastards". Aimy's own assurance that she was only wearing "this dumb fucking hat" because of politcal bullshit bore fruit as well, especially when she more formally requested entry to pick up the personal effects of one Amelia von Humpeding before we all got deployed in a few hours.

>>84882054
omg SHOGGY! YESSSSSSSSSSSS

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>>84884677
Hey, you, cut that out.
Aimy is a sweet, innocent girl that only is romanced by wholesome acts, as she is affection starved from her militaristic upbringing by an understandably aloof and distant motherly figure and absent fatherly figure.

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>>84884749

Interestingly, all the goodwill our blatant bribery earned us was overshadowed by the Stormtroopers' response on hearing Aimy's name. The Sergeant did a double-take, and then buzzed someone on his desk's vox unit, before abruptly getting up and leaving through the door behind his desk. The two Stormtroopers on door duty just shrugged when we looked at them.

After a short wait, during which Nubby managed to exchange a few pairs of socks for a round of hot drinks, the Sergeant returned accompanied by something so surprising that lesser men would've spat their recaff: a Stormtrooper Rupert. Not THE Rupert of course, rather the exact sort of painfully keen and woefully inexperienced junior officer that'd doomed more honest guardsmen than all the Traitor Marine legions combined, but in a Stormtrooper uniform. We all stared in shock, I mean, logically we knew that Stormtroopers had junior officers just like everyone else, but we'd always assumed they just started at Captain or something. Seeing a Stormtrooper with LT tabs was just wrong, and the experience was not helped by the way he boggled at Aimy like a recruit that'd just been issued his first porno slate.

After a small prod from his Sergeant, the Stomtrooper Lieutenant stepped forward, and ascertained that Aimy was indeed here for her stuff, and yes it was urgent, because we were all deploying, and yes Aimy was really one of THOSE Von Humpedings. The obvious firmly stated, the LT retreated through the door along with the rather put-upon Sergeant, only to reappear at the room's observation window and press his face up against the decidedly two-way glass. Nubby and Tink snickered as a large foggy patch grew around the Storm-Rupert's face, but fell silent when Aimy reminded them who here had a chainsword.

>>84882054
Holy shit...I made it! I sincerely hope you're doing better man. Thank you for posting.

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>>84884779
gotta wonder about that father figure

>>84884787
It's always fun to see tabletop party members (is Aimy even a PC?) have a reputation acknowledged by NPCs.

>>84884841
If nobles in the future are anything like nobles from the present, likely off doing his own thing and a political marriage isn't stopping political scandals.

Hot damn I actually made it to one of these, hell yeah!

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>>84884787

After several awkward minutes, the LT disappeared from the window and the Stormtrooper Sergeant returned. While a dozen servo-skulls emerged from the wall ports and flitted around, presumably doing scanny stuff, the Stormtrooper Sergeant quietly informed Aimy that there was a bit of a paperwork issue, but not to worry, because they'd gotten her "The Good Scribe".

Said Good Scribe turned out to be a wizened old man in an augmetic wheelchair, unfortunately accompanied by the Lieutenant. The jury was still out on whether the little tit was a ladder climber trying to score points with the family of a Lord General, or if he just had a thing for women in slightly blood stained Commissariat uniforms, but whatever the reason he was practically bending over backwards to make Aimy happy, and this included volunteering a squad of Stormtroopers to replace her retinue of Penal Legionnaires. On cue, Sarge volunteered to take our bin of laundry down to the guard room, along with the LT's orders, and before long a whole squad of neckerchief-sporting Stormtroopers returned, ready to escort and gofer the facility's honored guest. The question of whether the Lieutenant knew the appearance of his own men well enough to spot the swap was sidestepped when Aimy blithely responded to the facility's "no weapons" rule, by handing over her gore-covered chainsword, and asking the LT to personally take care of cleaning it for her.

With the Storm-Rupert out of the way, the Scribe assigned to us proved every bit as good as the Sergeant had promised. He waved away Aimy's sob story about her orders being mislaid and the time critical nature of things, assuring her it wouldn't be a problem at all. In a surprisingly short time, he'd managed to pull up the room number for her gear, produced and filled out a dozen or so arcane requisition forms, and led the way out to the final security checkpoint between us and the facility proper.

the return of the king

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>>84884873

This second checkpoint hadn't been on the Interrogator's plans, but that was understandable given it looked like it'd been set up within the last few days. It wasn't much, just a single Stormtrooper with a clipboard, and a senior looking scribe sitting at a desk covered with dormant servo-skulls. We watched as our scribe rolled forward and a sort of bureaucratic arm-wrestling match began, with a lot of arguing about the difference between a "release order" and a "disposal order", and why our request didn't violate some sort of "freeze".

For his part, the Stormtrooper eyed us, and casually asked why we were all wearing scarves. There was a brief moment of panic, during which Sarge mentally ran through all of the vague excuses we'd come up with, before finally shrugging and just raising the edge of his scarf to expose the discipline collar, and announcing that we were wearing them because our Inquisitor was a massive asshole. The Stormtrooper winced in sympathy, but then frowned and pointed out that he only had authorization to let through active HQ troopers, and he would need to verify our credentials. Sarge began to proffer his doctored ID card, hoping like hell that Tink had done as good a job on them as he'd claimed, but the Stormtrooper waved him away and asked the pair of arguing scribes whether the psyker had come back from the bathroom yet.

Posting for my normie buddy, this is his favorite storytime on the net, keep it up man! It's also my favorite too.

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>>84884920

Fortunately, the answer to that question was "No", or more precisely, a sarcastic eye roll and a gesture at the general psyker-less-ness of the area. The Stormtrooper muttered something, and leaned over to the desk's intercom, and was rewarded with a pained voice telling him "Yeah yeah, but which massive asshole?"

To our collective relief Sarge actually managed not to blurt "Rogue Inquisitor Oak", but his decision to stand there silently panicking wasn't that much of an improvement. Fortunately, before any of us decided to try our hands at bullshitting past a psyker, our scribe helpfully suggested that if we could describe our Inquisitor, they could help us remember their name. Seizing the opportunity, all of us began rattling of a list of the most generic descriptors possible from "Paranoid bastard who doesn't tell his subordinates anything" to "Self-Important jackass who thinks everyone else is too stupid to breathe", and with a brief diversion into "tells your mom you got sent to a penal legion". All of these were accepted with the blank stares of people waiting for you to finish stating the obvious, until Nubby suggested "Big Stupid Hat?", and all three of them abruptly nodded, while the indisposed psyker swore at us for wasting his time and hung up. As the Stormtrooper waved us through the door, he suggested that next time we start with "The Inquisitor who's already here, doing the pre-trial inventory on the Oak case."

It's pretty exciting to read this live. It's rather obvious that some colossal fuckup by someone is bound to happen at some point, and I await each post with a sort of gleeful dread one may get from witnessing a car crash.

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>>84884959

As infiltrations of top-secret Inquisitorial facilities went, it was safe to say that we'd achieved the title of "Most Half-Assed". Honestly, we'd been grilled harder by stingy quartermasters, and Tau ones at that, but we weren't going to look a gift critter in the orifice, at least not without a good pair of gloves. That said, we did still try to pry some information out of the scribe as he and the servo-skull led us through the massive grid of corridors, but there was something about the place that seemed to discourage conversation. The walls just sort of drank in sound, making it hard to do more than nod along as the scribe nattered about how the recent servitor recall had made such a mess of things.

In fact, according to the Scribe, the facility was so short on manpower they'd been trying to get the Penal Legion to assign a few details to help inside as well as outside, but they hadn't been able to get the security authorization. Doc broke in, and asked whether Aimy's assigned penal detachment could've come in with her under her security, and the rest of us groaned at the realization that we probably could've just walked in without any of the stupid disguise or laundry stuff. At least the helpful old Scribe was able to authorize the "return" of Aimy's legionnaires, actually printing out a little form from an augmetic in his chair, and handing it to Aimy with a cheerful suggestion that she just take it to the guards on the freight exit instead of bothering the main security office.

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>>84885019

The door our guide-skull led us to was a little smaller and lower security than most of the ones we'd seen, it was only the three Stormtroopers with a cargo pallet that set it apart. They seemed surprised to see us, boggling slightly at the sight of the snoring Commissar, but straightened up when the Scribe asked them what they were doing. After a short awkward pause, one of them explained that they had a disposal order for the room, and handed over a dataslate. The Scribe looked at it for a few seconds, announced he saw the problem, and promised to get it all sorted out. He instructed the trio to come with him, and began rolling off down the hallway, only to sheepishly roll back and open the door for us when Tink called after him.

None of us had really known what to expect inside an Inquisitorial evidence store-room, but the reality was worse than we could have ever imagined. There were boxes, shelves, filing cabinets, and bins, all packed together more densely than any functionally sane human would want, but up above them was something terrible. Rows upon rows of metal racks reached all the way to the ceiling, every centimeter of them festooned with bulging opaque plastic wafers, each one containing a single vacuum-sealed item. Our entire arsenal (not to mention our tools, personal effects, several reams of parking tickets, and what looked to be several dozen empty beer bottles) had been clamshelled.

>>84884967

2 questions on every AGP story

"how'd they fuck it up this time?"

"how'd they get out alive?"

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>>84885055
>clamshelled

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>>84885055

The scribe handed Aimy a battered data wand, hastily explaining the litanies of identification and deactivation, and stressing the importance of not removing or breaking the seal on any item that hadn't been deactivated first. With a friendly direction towards the nearest supply closet, where cutting implements and first-aid kits could be found, he rolled off.

Tink grabbed the wand, and hesitantly poked the little electronic seal on one of the corners. A hologram of a MRE appeared, along with a brief description, ID code, access log, and a little menu which Tink carefully navigated. The rest of us watched with growing impatience as the techie confirmed that he was sure he wanted to access the item, that he had read and understood the legal ramifications of accessing it, that he wanted to remove the item, that he'd read and understood the legal ramifications of removing it, and that he didn't want to review all those documents again.Twitch summed up the general mood with series of dire curses on all bureaucrats.

By the time Tink had the first few randomly selected items deactivated, and a pair of scissors had been fetched, broken, and abandoned in favor of Sarge's augmetic hand, it was obvious that this was going to take far longer than we had time for. Everyone but Tink (and the old Commissar, who'd been wedged under the racks at the far wall) began searching the racks and boxes for the real necessities. The room's small floorspace was ankle deep in vacuum sealed junk when Nubby, having climbed through the racks to the back of the room, triumphantly chucked out a distinctly lasgun shaped package. Not just any lasgun mind you, an oversized, blocky looking, totally-not-techno-heretical lasgun.

Finally caught one these live. Absolutely love the story, Shoggy.

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>>84885097

The realization that Oak had included our gear from the Occurrence Border boosted the mood massively, and Tink began excitedly badgering Nubby to try and find if Spot 3.0 had been included too. Sarge broke in to remind them guns, ammo, and combeads first, and informed the rest of us that there wasn't time for everyone to sit around here. He, Aimy, and Twitch would go off and scout for Oak's locker as soon as they were armed, and would return once it'd been located to get their collars off and plan the switch. Doc would stay behind with Nubby and Tink to supervise the search for Oak's boxes, and make sure the old Commissar didn't wake up and cause trouble.

As soon as Aimy had changed into our last Stormtrooper uniform, three weapons and the grenade Twitch insisted on having had all been extracted, and two combeads had been found, the scouting team set off. Tink immediately redirected Nubby to find his personal stuff first, ignoring Doc's objections, because everything would be SO much faster once he'd found his dataslate. Doc had barely even started grumpily going through the stacks of boxes when Tink extracted said slate, and triumphantly plugged it into the dataslate Aimy had left with him. Aimy's dataslate, now elevated to the full authority of a Commissar, not only supplied the IDs of Oak's boxes (which were in the far corner from where Doc had been searching), but finally unlocked those damn collars. The Medic, feeling relieved, but about as useful and appreciated as a Catachan Commissar, decided that was his cue to go do something more useful, and headed off with his Penal Legion Assistance Authorization Form to go get some more hands.

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>>84885143

With the annoying voice of reason out of the way, Tink and Nubby extracted the techie's plasma gun, and the unpackaging process became significantly faster, if rather foul smelling. Admittedly, this completely violated all those directions the Scribe had given us, but when the first one didn't trigger any alarms, Tink had declared it all a bunch of horseshit. It wasn't until a light started flashing above the door that it occurred to either of the pair to check whether the room had a fire detector, but fortunately it appeared to just be some sort of minor warning which quickly shut itself off as the room's air circulation automatically activated.

Unfortunately the old Commissar was less forgiving, coughing and grumbling in a distinctly non-tranqed, not to mention exceedingly annoying, fashion. After the third outburst, Tink announced that enough was enough, especially now that we'd gotten out of the collars, and directed Nubby to dig the old geezer out and take him somewhere less distracting, like one of the servitor-storage rooms just down the corner. Nubby began to argue about being ordered around, but decided a little walkabout would be nice, anything to get him out of the cramped little fume-filled room faster really.

>>84885097
Aw yeah, best characters are back, the tau guns

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>>84885217

A fair distance away, the scouting team was making some sort of progress. The duplicated ID cards were working to get them through the security doors at every junction, if a bit slower than things had been with the guide-skull, and there were enough other skull-less Stormtroopers walking around that they didn't really stand out. The problem was that while they had the ID number for Oak's room, which Sarge had "memorized" using a marker and his forearm, there wasn't any sort of directory, or even organization at all as far as Sarge and Aimy could tell. Twitch insisted there was a pattern though, one which he was on the edge of understanding, if they would just let him study the problem. Fully aware that Twitch had also said this about his breakfast cereal on multiple occasions, but lacking any better ideas, Sarge and Aimy fell into step behind the demo trooper.

Several minutes of back-and-forth semi-random wandering (and an awkward number of references to Sarge's forearm) later, Twitch led the trio to a junction door with a terminally bored Stormtrooper sitting in front of it. The Stormtrooper didn't look up from the dataslate he was holding as they approached, just boredly announcing that the junction's card readers were still broken, and they should just detour around it. Before anyone could stop him, Twitch triumphantly poked a finger at the man, accusing him of being One of Them. The Stormtrooper looked up in surprise, did a double-take at Sarge, and hastily shoved the slate into his pocket and came to a very embarrassed attention. Sarge shrugged in his best I've-got-other-shit-to-deal-with manner as the man muttered about "only watching it for the battle scenes" and dragged Twitch out before he could make things any weirder.

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>>84885246

At Twitch's insistence, the scout patrol continued around the grid to the other side of the junction, turning up two more terminally-bored Stormtroopers, before arriving at the final connected corridor, where a pair of far more professional-looking Stormtroopers blocked the way. Before anyone could think to stop him, the demo trooper walked up to the pair, and asked if Oak's shit was through there. He got a silent nod. Twitch asked if "Inquisitor Big Hat" was still there, and got a snort from the second trooper to go along with another silent nod. Twitch turned to Sarge and Aimy with a triumphant finger-guns, and raised the question of what to do next.

Sarge turned, trying to avoid faceplate-contact with the two guards, while poking his combead in an attempt to raise Tink. After a few seconds of frustrating silence, he pulled the headset off, checked its indicators (which were all green), and started checking the other channels to see if he could hear anything on any of them. He stopped on the main Stormtrooper band, listening to the calming chatter of patrol check-ins, and then shrugged and announced that Tink's combead must be on the fritz. He began to suggest that we just get on with things as planned, when the door abruptly opened to reveal one of those incredibly creepy flying "cherub" sevitors. One of the guards announced that the Inquisitor was ready for us, and motioned for us to follow the creepy thing. Tink and Aimy stared in shock, but Sarge just nodded and motioned for the pair to follow him into the hallway.

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>>84885280

As it turned out, Oak's case did not have a room, it had the entire damn hall, both sides, and the "pre-trial inventory" was in full swing. The hall was littered with pallets, boxes, stormtroopers (of both the half-assed and rod-assed varieties), and at least a dozen scribes with data-wands and slates moving between the rooms. The only thing absent were the guide-skulls, having all been replaced by horrible flying cyber-babies with Inquisitorial icons stapled to them. Twitch quietly pointed out that anyone creepy enough to use Cherub servitors should automatically be considered a heretic; Aimy nodded in fervent agreement, and Sarge suggested that this really was not the time or place for that sort of discussion.

The cherub led them to the largest door in the hall, a void-shielded high-security job with wards all over it. In front of the door was a harassed looking man in a big dumb hat, waving a servitor control wand around and berating a random scribe. The Inquisitor (because there's no way he wasn't one) looked up in vague surprise as the group approached, and waved the scribe away. Sarge, lacking any better ideas, saluted and then stood there, while Twitch and Aimy watched and tried not to panic. The Inquisitor stared at Sarge for a second, and then waved his wand at the big door and ordered the three to follow him in.

Inside the room (more of a vault really) things were a lot less busy. There were a few elderly scribes off at a table on the side, along with a far younger scribe watching them. In the middle of the room, another young scribe as well as a pair of elderly Inquisitorial Savant types and a trio of Cherubs, fussed over a collection of clam-shelled items and three familiar-looking empty boxes. In the far corner, a final young scribe sat muttering into a large vox unit. Once the door was closed, the Inquisitor's demeanor immediately changed, and he gruffly demanded Sarge's report on what he'd found "in the Von Humpeding girl's vault".

>>84885230

You have no fucking idea. Getting your gear metroided sucks.

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>>84885362

Back at said vault, Doc returned with penal-legion helpers in tow. The Stormtroopers working the freight bay had objected to him bringing in the trainees, but only because they'd been doing a great job of hauling stuff to the incinerator, and none of the troopers were keen on going back to doing it themselves. They'd bowed in the face of Doc's little printed form though, and reluctantly allowed their helpers to head inside, along with several empty pallets and one laundry hamper full of fresh-minced commissar.

Bringing the group through the facility hadn't been a particular problem either, except for the part right at the end, where Doc encountered Nubby trying to jam the sleeping old Commissar into the tiny supply closet across the hall. Doc sent the trainees in to start helping Tink, and went off to supervise Nubby's drunk-commissar-storage project. The cretinous little trooper whined that he'd checked every door he had access to, and the small supply closet was the only one even remotely acceptable. Doc pointed out that, even if Nubby did manage to fit the Commissar into it, the massive pile of office supplies he'd emptied out of it were a bit of a give-away, not to mention what would happen if anyone else needed to come get an easily-broken pair of scissors. Nubby insisted that the other rooms he checked were actually worse, for some unspecified reason, but grudgingly grabbed the Commissar's pallet, and followed Doc down the hall to re-check those servitor storage and maintenance rooms.

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>>84885246
>as the man muttered about "only watching it for the battle scenes" and dragged Twitch out before he could make things any weirder.

A man of culture, I see.

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>>84884873
>he just had a thing for women in slightly blood stained Commissariat uniforms

Who doesn't?

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>>84882054
Glad to see that both you and the AGP are back at it again Shoggy. the 40k knucklehead version of the A team is a story that I keep coming back to. Salud

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>>84885418

A few minutes later, Tink looked up from where he'd been supervising the extraction of Oak's boxes, as Doc and Nubby returned and started shoveling freshly-opened weapons, explosives, and MREs into the Commissar's lap in an attempt to make space in the decidedly crowded little room. Tink was not happy with the return of this distraction, especially when Doc and Nubby couldn't really explain what was wrong with all the other rooms, just waving their hands and going on about how they'd checked and the rooms were "unacceptable". The trainees butted in, pointing out that having him there wasn't really that much of an inconvenience, especially now that the ventilation was on full blast, but the techie insisted that it would ruin his nice efficient process. Tink ordered the trainees to finish opening the items he'd already "deactivated" (he refused to leave his plasma gun with them, on the grounds that they'd probably break it) and then led Doc, Nubby, and the Commissar pallet out into the hallway.

The argument continued in the hallway for a minute, with both Nubby and Doc insisting that the only other remotely acceptable option was the little supply closet. Tink, agreeing about the stupidity of the little closet, but still trying to ascertain what exactly was so damn wrong with his previous drunk-Commissar-storage suggestions, finally yelled at Nubby and Doc to just show him, and grabbed the Commissar's pallet. A short walk brought the trio back to the door of the servitor storage bay, where Nubby rolled his eyes, jimmied the door, looked in, and then made a little "ah-ha!" gesture.

>"Daaaaaat was it! We couldn shove 'im 'ere cause its all full up wif nekkid dead guys!"

>>84885454

I still maintain that "A-Team Theme On A Kazoo" is our themesong.

so this has been fun so far, is there an archive I can read the first parts at?

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>>84885461

Tink surveyed the room, with its tight rows of servitor-berths inexplicably filled with what looked like naked stormtroopers and a few scribes. After a few seconds of pondering, Tink pointed out there was still PLENTY of room if they just shoved 'em all up in a pile against the far wall. Doc explained that he'd already thought of that, and the problem was that only a few of them were actually dead. Wouldn't do to have them wake up and start asking questions about why people were shoving Commissars in there with them. Also, Nubby added, it would be super unhygienic and a lot of work. Tink nodded in reluctant agreement with their sound logic, and began to turn the pallet back around, only to abruptly stop part-way (nearly sliding its snoring cargo off) and ask what was wrong with the other room.

Doc and Nubby both looked at eachother, obviously waiting for the other to explain, until Nubby finally made a little apathetic shrugging gesture. He walked up the door labeled Servitor Maintenance and Control Shrine 4 and knocked on it. Tink watched, slightly nonplussed, as an annoyed-looking man in robes opened the door and firmly stated that NO means NO, not even if they asked pretty please or promised he wouldn't wake up, not to mention throw up! Doc immediately apologized and began offering tips on cleaning bodily fluids out of clothing, but stopped as the man made a little gesture and touched the glowing crystals on the orante necklace he wore.

Tink peeked behind the Psyker, surveying the impressive little cogitator array that had been wired into the building's main control and communication systems. He paused for a second, looking from the Cogitator, to the Psyker, to the closed Servitor Bay, and then back to Doc and Nubby.

>>84885475

>In the grim darkness of the far future, a generic Guardsman unit was sentenced to Penal Legion service by an Inquisitorial tribune for crimes they did commit...

>>84885509
Yes.
http://www.theallguardsmenparty.com/

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>"Daaaaaat was it! We couldn shove 'im 'ere cause its all full up wif nekkid dead guys!"

Well shit, looks like somebody else had their own sneaky plan.

>>84885509
Oh do you have some catching up to do

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>>84885512

>Okay, so we can't put the Commissar in that one because there's a bunch of stripped stormtroopers already hidden there.

Doc and Nubby both nodded, while the Psyker rolled his eyes and made a "get along with it" gesture.

>And we can't put him in this one because this guy is already using it for his secret Inquisitorial mission.

More nods and eye rolling.

>And that supply closet was way too small… unless I make it bigger that is!

Tink raised his plasma gun, and both Doc and Nubby nodded at this novel out-of-the-box solution. The psyker winced, and touched his crystals again, and all three guardsmen deflated as they realized that there were probably a lot of reasons why cutting holes in the wall with a xenotech plasma weapon was a bad idea. Tink paused, double-checking that incongruous thought, and then sighed.

>You know, if I had a throne for every time we blundered into another Inquisitorial team mid-mission, I'd only have two, which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it's happened twice.

Doc laughed. Nubby laughed. The Psyker blinked. Tink shot the Psyker.

Of course, now the problem was that, as Nubby put it, "Dere's dead psyker juice everywhere". Tink nodded in resigned agreement, admitting that it really wasn't the sort of place to linger in, you know, in case they caught dead-psyker-itus or something. Down on the floor, Doc finished putting a dressing on the definitely-dead Psyker's chest wound, and blinked a few times. As Tink and Nubby wheeled the Commissar out, Doc jogged after them, grabbed one of the pulse carbines off the pallet, and shot the psyker again, in the head this time, and then dragged the techie back in to take a look at the cogitator setup.

Nubby remained in the hallway with the Commissar, insisting he had a family history of dead-psyker-itus.

>>84882054
I missed you shoggy
your dogs are cool

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>>84885575

In a room full of not-dead psykers, Sarge delivered an exceedingly precise report of the contents of Aimy's vault. To wit, parking tickets, guns, explosives, beer bottles, and more parking tickets. After nearly a minute of this, the Inquisitor held up a hand and clarified that he wanted to know what had happened and why Sarge was HERE.

Sarge winced at the feedback in his combead, both from the irate Inquisitor and the poorly-disguised psyker muttering in the corner, then reached up and turned the stupid thing off. Ignoring the Inquisitor's raised eyebrow, Sarge truthfully reported that Cadet Commissar Von Humpedig arrived to collect her stuff, and… they'd… uh… come here. Because orders. Aimy and Twitch shared a look of growing alarm, but the Inquisitor only sighed and asked Sarge why he wasn't wearing a psi-shield. The answer, "Because we weren't issued any?", did not seem to please the man. He glared at Sarge, which didn't really have much effect given the face plate.

The inquisitorial glowering was interrupted by a shrill beep from under Sarge's scarf, prompting further demands as to why he was wearing a scarf, why said scarf was beeping, AND where his psi-shield was. Sarge, still standing at a firm attention, got as far as "Because…" before the Inquisitor held up a hand and declared that he really did not care. In an exasperated tone, depressingly familiar to us from our previous missions, he directed Sarge to turn around, go back to Aimy's vault, and STAY there until the Interrogator shows up, as had been outlined in the mission briefing. And then to go get a damned psi-shield.

Sarge, Aimy, and Tink, thanking the sweet merciful Emperor, saluted as the Inquisitor strode past them to reopen the door. Those thanks came to an abrupt halt as the door opened to reveal three familiar-looking stormtroopers, one of them with their hand raised to knock.

>>84885575
oh my fucking god i just got a nice sip of some good beer out nose damn you shoggy that was fucking amazing.

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>>84885601

Thanky

>>84885649
Ah yes, the tantalizing fantasy of home ownership

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>>84885575
>I'd only have two
Rookie numbers, nerd!
Sarge'd have five. Maybe 4 and a half, since they didn't really bumble into the other team on the pilgrim fleet so much as un-bumbled their interrogators.
Does crash landing into the enemy team's tower-base count as a bumbling meeting?

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>>84885618

The Inquisitor figured out what had happened far more quickly than anyone else, which didn't really help him much, since Sarge, Twitch, and Aimy didn't waste any time at all on such silliness: they just opened fire. Two fully automatic pulse-carbines, and a double-tap from Aimy's rifle hit the Inquisitor… and then kept going as the man vanished with the distinctive crack of a Displacer Field. The three pseudo-Stormtroopers behind the man did not have displacer fields, or time to dodge for that matter.

Unfortunately, this abrupt opening didn't account for the dozen or two other Stomtroopers present, and even more unfortunately, the Inquisitor stuck his landing. A booming voice infused with psychic Will, ordered the three Guardsmen to drop their weapons. Sarge, along with half the Stormtroopers present, abruptly dropped their guns, as did Twitch, along with the grenade he'd just primed. A desperate kick caught the falling munition, propelling it off the far wall and out of sight down the hall, roughly in the direction which the Inquisitor's voice had come from. Aimy did not drop her weapon, because she'd already let go of it as she ran for the door's control panel, slamming the massive metal vault shut on a muffled *krump* and anguished "MY LEG!"

Sarge and Twitch recaptured their weapons from their slings, while Aimy mashed every single alarm and lock button on the panel, and asked Sarge just what the hell we were supposed to do now. Fortunately for the big, tired noncom the answer was obvious, because right about then the two Savants got over their shock and started screaming at their psykers to kill us.

>>84885669

Nah, that was very much intentional. You only get points if you manage to do it by accident.

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>>84885742

Actually, what the Savants were yelling was a bunch of gibberish "Throne-washes-Tallarns" stuff, but the intent was pretty clear as the three young scribes all sat bolt upright and turned to glare at us. The fact that they were psykers was also pretty clear, what with the nimbus of warpy energy forming around the one in the corner, and the one at the table levitating up into the air. The real clincher though was when the one over by the actual scribes abruptly turned into a daemonic horror the likes of which man was not meant to see; a towering flickering mass of mouths and all-seeing eyes, the sort of monstrosity that could not be fought, only fled in a futile attempt to postpone the inevitable grisy end. We shot it anyway though, because what else were we supposed to do?

Whatever the psyker thought was going to happen, it wasn't three guardsmen panic firing xenotech plasma weapons in an enclosed area. When Sarge and Twitch ran out of ammo all that was left of the psyker (not to mention the chair, table, half a shelving unit, and one of the hypnotized scribes' arms) was a smoldering stain on the vault floor. The two remaining psykers and their Savant handlers all stared in utter shock, which was finally broken as Aimy realized she still had a few shots left, and promptly shot one of the Savants. The remaining old man drew a needle-pistol and leapt for cover, screaming more command-phrases and gesturing with the data-wand in his free hand. Sarge and Twitch both ducked as all three cherub servitors swarmed them, prodding at their faces and hands with miniature shock-mauls while screeching and laughing in a far more disturbing way than the faux-Daemon had managed.

>>84885753
>2 for Angela's be-traitoring
>2 More with the Tinkermeister Weenie
Tink still needs to get a few more bumbles under his belt is all I'm saying.

>>84885780

I wonder what the Perils of the Warp Count will be at the end of the AGP's story.

>>84885859
I'm pretty sure the daemonic horror thing was just an illusion.

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>>84885780

Sarge, cursing whatever had possessed him to come down here without his full kit, or at least a damn side-arm, tried to swat away the cherubs with his gun's butt while Twitch desperately tried to reload. He expanded that cursing to include his decision to leave the damn collar on, as the device in question suddenly progressed from beeps to "warning" shocks. Twitch added his own swears as his collar kicked in too and he dropped his reload.

Realizing she was the only one with a functional weapon at present, Aimy fell back into cover and lined up a shot on one of the cherubs, only to miss entirely as an invisible force wrenched her pulse-rifle upwards. The markswoman, having just gotten her damn gun back and being none too keen on losing it again, tightened her grip on the bucking weapon. The telekine psyker grunted and pulled harder, until the pulse-rifle finally rose over the top of the shelves, with an irate Aimy dangling under it, loudly promising to shoot him in his stupid psyker face the second he let go.

Sarge missed the magical levitating markswoman, at first because he was a little busy trying to fend off the cherubs, and then because his mind abruptly went blank. Across the room, the psyker by the vox unit let out a groan of distress as several decades of literally Guard-issue battle damage weighed down on his psyche, followed by a sharp electric shock to the neck. Sarge flinched and swore at his damn collar, and then blinked as he registered the (thankfully still empty) gun he had pointed at Twitch's head.

Any introspection that might've happened after coming this close to fucking up was postponed as one of the cherubs whacked him right in the face-plate with its mini-maul. Sarge swore yet again, dropped his weapon onto its sling, and just grabbed the annoying little shit out of the air by a decoratively-flapping wing, and swung it into one of its companions in a spray of feathers and servitor-lubricant.

>>84885859
any amount on that counter is too damn high for an honest guardsman

>>84885618
okay i might be missing something. what started this fight? is this one of their previous groups they've had less-than-stellar run ins with?

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>>84885920

Twitch, having finally succeeded in reloading, turned to take out the last cherub, only for his mind to go blank as well. Sarge, being gratifyingly quick on the uptake for a change, managed to grab the mind-puppeted demo trooper's weapon and yank the barrel upwards just in time. Twitch responded by repeatedly attempting to shank him with a sharpened fork, but didn't manage to penetrate the armor before his collar activated again and the psyker released him with a pained yelp.

A good three meters above all this, Aimy's deathgrip on her weapon carried her over the top of one of the shelving units, as well as the rather-surprised Savant using it as cover. Rather than wait for the elderly man to shoot her like so much skeet, the markswoman twisted her body around and planted both feet against the side of a heavy-looking box and kicked off as hard as she could. The box, proving even heavier than it looked, barely even shifted, the shelving unit on the other hand…

The Savant let out a little screech of terror and sprinted along the aisle, throwing himself to the ground as the shelves finally slammed into their neighbor, pushing it over as well and leaving him in a small gap full of falling clamshell casings. Aimy surveyed the carnage as a third set of shelves began to teeter, and found herself drifting off into a sort of peaceful doze. She didn't even realize she'd let go of her weapon until the strap caught her in the armpit, abruptly jerking her attention back to the present. Aimy twisted around to glare at the telepathic psyker by the vox unit, and after a brief survey of the available options, grabbed her stormtrooper helmet and hucked it at him.

>>84886024
they accidentally impersonated three members of the present inquisitor's retinue, who promptly walked in on the AGP just as they were leaving.

I believe these are the stormtroopers whose IDs were swiped.

>>84886044

Twitch put down the remaining cherub just as soon as he'd convinced Sarge it was really him, and could he have his gun back now pretty please? He started to shift left down the aisle while Sarge reloaded his own weapon and moved right, and drew up to the end of the unit right as the badly-shaken Savant flung himself around the corner, ready to flank the two men his psyker and cherubs had tied down. Twitch made a sound somewhere between a scream and a yelp, and flinched backwards as bits of Savant-skull shrapnel pinged off his faceplate.

At the other end of the aisle, Sarge ignored the weird sounds behind him as he spotted the glowing telepath psyker seated at the vox unit in the far corner of the room. His carefully-aimed shot missed as a ballistic helmet whacked the young man in the face, dropping him to the floor. Swearing some more, especially as the collar shocked him again, the noncom sprinted down the aisle, confirmed the kill, and turned to try and get a shot at the remaining psyker.

The telekine, a girl even younger than Fumbles (who insisted he was 23), abruptly realized that shit had gone truly south, and released a psychic shockwave that blew Sarge, Twitch, the Scribes, and several shelves backwards. Aimy was also hit by this blast, but true to her word, the second the markswoman's rifle was released from its psychic grip, she turned, drew a bead on the psyker mid-air, and dropped the girl with a solid center-of-mass shot. Having spared rather less attention for her landing, not to mention the psychic shockwave, Aimy swore as she bounced off two fallen shelving units, caught her leg on one of them, and found herself hanging upside-down staring at the terrified and confused Scribes. One of them raised their hand like a kid in school, and asked what was going on.

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Just popping in to say that it's great to see you alive and kicking Shoggy, keep on keeping on!

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>>84886055

Image fuck-up counter: 1

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>>84886055

In accordance with the laws of narrative causality, at precisely the moment when the Inquisitor had said "until the Interrogator shows up", a sallow-skinned young man and his two companions asked Nubby what he was doing standing in hallway with a pallet full of unconscious Commissars and odd-looking energy weapons. Corporal Nubby Nubbs, Inquisitorial Stormtrooper, saluted and proudly told the pale young man with the psyker-staff that he was keepin' watch while 'is mates Doc and Tink checked out da psyker closet. The Interrogator groaned, and motioned at one of his retainers to inspect the room.

Doc and Tink looked up from the cogitator unit as the door opened, framing a dark, lithe blur sprinting towards them. The medic reacted first, fumbling for his carbine, only for a hand to yank it out of his grasp and pull him forwards into what felt like a power-hammer blow to the chest. Tink got to watch as Doc got kicked past him with enough force to break his weapon strap, and then his own weapon was yanked forwards, dragging him out of his seat face-first into the plasma gun's butt. A slightly nasal feminine voice complained: "He got himself shot in the damn face by these idiots, and I think this one with the fancy gun might be a frakkin officer."

Doc and Tink tried. They really, really did. Despite the broken ribs, Doc managed to get back up and launch a tackle at the body-suited woman (who, to be fair, wasn't even looking at him), only for her to slap him in the face hard enough to shatter his faceplate and leave the stunned medic in a heap on the floor. Tink made a grab for his gun while she was busy, and got smashed in the face with its butt again for his trouble. Outside, the Interrogator casually reminded the woman not to kill anyone, while he focused on psychically examining Inquisitorial Stormtrooper Nubbs.

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>>84886118
Ooh! I like her!

>>84886160

She was a fully kitted out melee-focused PC, with a surprise round. She fucking ragdolled us.

>Outside, the Interrogator casually reminded the woman not to kill anyone, while he focused on psychically examining Inquisitorial Stormtrooper Nubbs.

That's a fucking AMAZING idea.

>>84886195

the type of Really Good Idea that could only be outclassed by psychically examining Twitch

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>>84886118

>>84886118

The Interrogator's other retainer, a tall lean man in a comically fancy coat and feathered hat, flipped up Nubby's visor to compare it against his security badge, and immediately regretted his decision. In a tone of horrified fascination, he pointed out that either the HQ Stormtroopers were really scraping the bottom of the barrel, or the Ordos Xenos had started doing diversity hires. The Interrogator frowned at this observation, while Nubby happily explained that he'd "never been to no 'versity", but was great at scraping things. The fancy aristo sneered and moved on to examining the snoring Commissar, companionably pointing out that at least the Interrogator didn't have to dirty his mind on that wreck of humanity. The Interrogator shuddered and shook his head as the short trooper excavated one of his nostrils, examined his findings, and ate them. After a brief disgusted pause, he told his minion to shut up and go check on the Von Humpeding vault.

The squad of penal-trainees didn't even look up as the door opened, being far too busy looking in literally any other direction. The aristo surveyed the scene for a few seconds, before closing the door again and asking whether anyone would miss a unit of penal legionnaires if they spontaneously disappeared. The Interrogator grunted in psychic effort and the man hurriedly closed the door again; after a few seconds of silent probing, he declared that the legionnaires had been officially approved by someone or other, so they'd have to disappear the records too. The two men began debating whether it would be easier to kill, incapacitate, or just mind-fog the legionnaires while they investigated the vault for anything Oak-related.

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>>84886195
>>84886204

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>>84886206

In the dead-psyker-closet, Tink and Doc had decided staying down was the better part of valor, especially since the woman had finally gotten tired of re-breaking Tink's nose with the plasma gun, and was now holding it trained on the pair. Both guardsmen weighed their severely limited options, and lacking anything better, settled in to wait and see what happened next. That turned out to be the distant krump of a grenade, followed by several runes flashing red on the fancy cogitator setup. The woman stared in confusion at the mysterious blinking lights; Doc and Tink, having spent enough time poking at the thing to know that it was hooked up to the building's alarm system, decided the time had come for one last try.

Tink leapt at the woman, while Doc went for the cogitator. Realizing what was going on fairly quickly, she whipped the plasma gun towards Doc and pulled the trigger, and then stared in consternation as the gun emitted a short blue beam instead of a ball of plasma. Responding in the standard Imperial fashion for a warrior beset by unexpected weapon malfunctions, she raised her hand and gave the gun a good smack. Also responding in the standard Imperial fashion, the plasma-gun vented a blast of superheated gas directly into her face. Tink's tackle hit the woman roughly half a second later (his first successful hit of the fight), and while he didn't do more than stagger her, he did manage to get both hands on his beloved plasma gun. The blind leg-sweep she responded with hit his shins with considerably more force, as well with an unpleasant cracking sound.

Doc ignored the fight going on behind him in favor of desperately searching for the cogitor for some sort of "Approve" button. Deciding it either had to be the yellow check-mark or the green circle, he simply mashed both of them, and was rewarded with the sound of every vox in the building simultaneously blaring the fire, weapons-discharge, and emergency-lockdown alarms.

>>84886248
So glad you're still going. I'm exhausted from an LSAT exam, but seeing you posting made my night. I cannot wait to read these tomorrow. God bless you and stay healthy/happy.

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>>84886248

Out in the hall, the distant grenade blast interrupted the Interrogator and his minion. Both men paused to listen as their combeads erupted into confused chatter, until this was interrupted in turn by the deafening blare of the facility's alarms. The Interrogator swore, tightening his mental control on the short stormtrooper and the room full of penal legionnaires. The elderly Commissar, not being under psychic compulsion or adequately tranqed anymore, jerked awake, looked around in vague confusion, and spotted a pale little tit with an inquisitorial rosette standing right next to the pallet with his eyes closed. With the malicious grin of someone who'd always wanted to do this, he hefted his empty bottle and smashed it into the man's skull.

Sadly, the Commissar didn't have quite the same level of strength as, say, Sarge, so the Interrogator didn't have his head caved in, but he did drop to the ground with a little yelp of pain. Needless to say, the Interrogator did not take this kindly. A concentrated blast of psychic pain left the old Commissar squealing and flailing in his chair, much to the surprise of the no-longer-mind-controlled Nubby next to him. With the honed survival instincts of a true cretin, Nubby responded to the complex tactical situation by screaming, kicking the downed Interrogator in the stomach, grabbing one of the weapons falling off the Commissar's lap, and diving for cover behind the man's chair.

The aristocrat, viewing the whole situation with growing alarm, drew a comically small needle pistol, and asked his superior if he needed assistance. The interrogator instructed him to do something anatomically improbable, which he seemed to take as an order to start flanking Nubby's position.

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>>84886295

Out in the hall, the distant grenade blast interrupted the Interrogator and his minion. Both men paused to listen as their combeads erupted into confused chatter, until this was interrupted in turn by the deafening blare of the facility's alarms. The Interrogator swore, tightening his mental control on the short stormtrooper and the room full of penal legionnaires. The elderly Commissar, not being under psychic compulsion or adequately tranqed anymore, jerked awake, looked around in vague confusion, and spotted a pale little tit with an inquisitorial rosette standing right next to the pallet with his eyes closed. With the malicious grin of someone who'd always wanted to do this, he hefted his empty bottle and smashed it into the man's skull.

Sadly, the Commissar didn't have quite the same level of strength as, say, Sarge, so the Interrogator didn't have his head caved in, but he did drop to the ground with a little yelp of pain. Needless to say, the Interrogator did not take this kindly. A concentrated blast of psychic pain left the old Commissar squealing and flailing in his chair, much to the surprise of the no-longer-mind-controlled Nubby next to him. With the honed survival instincts of a true cretin, Nubby responded to the complex tactical situation by screaming, kicking the downed Interrogator in the stomach, grabbing one of the weapons falling off the Commissar's lap, and diving for cover behind the man's chair.

The aristocrat, viewing the whole situation with growing alarm, drew a comically small needle pistol, and asked his superior if he needed assistance. The interrogator instructed him to do something anatomically improbable, which he seemed to take as an order to start flanking Nubby's position.

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>>84886295

>>84886318

>/sigh

Neither Nubby or the Interrogator waited for the flanking maneuver. The Interrogator staggered to his feet, gesturing at Nubby in appropriately psyker-y fashion, only to screech in surprise as the little trooper lunged out of cover, brandishing a silenced autopistol. Abandoning his psychic attack, the man scrambled around the pallet barely ahead of a series of "bangs", desperately trying to keep the bulk of writhing Commissar between him and his assailant, and shouting warnings and instructions at the aristo. For his part, the dapper man picked his way through the detritus of half-packed crates, and pointed out that Nubby's gun hadn't actually been loaded. A slightly panicked voice from the far side of the Commissar informed him that it was totally, definitely, 100% loaded, and was just silenced. The aristo asked why he'd been shouting "bang" then, and was rewarded with the little trooper poking out his autopsistol, and yelling "fwip" instead. The Interrogator sighed in embarrassment, and made another, uninterrupted psychic gesture.

A short distance away, a very angry woman with plasma burns on her face stopped trying to dislodge the flailing, screaming Tink from the malfunctioning plasma gun, and just dropped both of them to the floor. Doc, knowing exactly what was coming next, scrambled away from the cogitator and tried to hide behind one of the servitor maintenance stations, only for a vice-like grip to close on his ankle and yank him out with enough force to fling the medic against the far wall. Her followup attack was interrupted as Tink switched the home-made fire-selector on his plasma gun from "cut" to "maximal", and shot her in the back.

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>>84886340

Amazingly, the woman actually managed to spin in place and PARRY Tink's shot. With her hand. While whatever mixture of augmetics, training, and magical bullshit that powered the woman's melee abilities was enough to deflect bullets, an overcharged ball of plasma capable of melting holes through tank armor was a bit of a tall order. Her hand didn't so much knock the plasma ball aside, as splash it, wreathing her whole arm in blue flame, scorching through her bodyglove, and reducing her hand to a fused, smoldering mass.

Doc, seeing an opportunity but having no illusions about the woman's ability to beat his ass literally one handed, scrambled past the screaming, swearing, burning woman, and dove for the corner where his pulse carbine had landed at the start of the fight. Displaying far more tactical sense than usual for an inquisition agent, instead of chasing the medic, the woman started sprinting for the door. Tink, lying squarely in her path, brandished his plasma gun, realized it was obviously still recharging, and desperately tried to drag himself out of her way, barely dodging the kick the woman aimed at his head as she passed.

Out in the hallway, Commissar Kelly swore as the ice-pick of psychic pain jammed into his brain pulsed with, upon reflection, not that much more discomfort than his more or less permanent hangover. It wasn't pleasant mind you, but really, it was a bit much to call it incapacitating. With an effort of will, the elderly Commissar brought his eyes and a decent portion of his mind into focus, and leaned forward to rummage in the pile of weapons in his lap. Next to his chair, the Interrogator grunted with effort as Nubby marched out of cover. The grimy little trooper handed the unloaded autopistol into the Interrogator's waiting hand, while the Commissar jammed his decidedly loaded laspitol into the Interrogator's waiting face.

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>>84886318
>>84886295
D-D-D-DOUBLE KILL
ya dun goofed

when's the AGP gonna jack a tank?

>>84886360

Next chapter, and it was "gifted" I'll have you know

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>>84886367
YES

>>84886367
this has been worth the wait im at the edge of my seat. thank you shoggbert. for how long now has the game itself been officially "ended?"

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>>84886356

The aristocratic inquisitorial agent, having successfully navigated the battle without getting shot at, and very proud of that fact, screamed in surprise as his superior's head detonated in a spray of flaming skull fragments and meaty bits. There was a brief pause as the aristo took in the abruptly changed combat situation and a confused Nubby picked up the fallen autopistol and tried to jam it back into the corpse's nerveless hand. Then the Commissar spotted him.

The barrage of laspistol fire had more in the way of enthusiasm than accuracy, but it was enough to convince the Aristo that it was time to take some cover. A panicked scramble left him crouched down behind one of the half-empty boxes littering the hall, trying to draw a bead on the furiously cursing Commissar, but flinching back with every poorly-aimed las-shot. A little behind him, the door to Aimy's vault slid open and the confused face of a penal legionnaire poked out, jerked back in, and then leaned back out again, this time accompanied by four more faces, as well as five lasguns. After a few seconds of watching, and one uncomfortably close miss in their direction, the former PDF trooper cleared his throat, and asked what was going on here. The Aristo blinked, laughed nervously, and immediately held up his hands.

>>84886391

From the point where I started mentioning the "tribunal", so around when I started the Tyranid chapter?

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>>84886394

On the opposite side of the Commissar, a smoldering, cursing blur flew out of the dead-psyker-closet, screaming for someone to throw her a weapon so she could kill these frak-heads. Grinning in sudden relief, the aristo continued his upward motion, smoothly rising to his feet and tossing his as-yet-unfired needle pistol toward his companion. Four of the five lasguns pointed at the man started moving, tracking the arc of the thrown pistol, which landed in the woman's remaining hand at roughly the same time as the better part of twelve las-shots hit her in the torso.

The aristo stared slack jawed as his companion crumpled to the floor, where a bolt of plasma and burst of pulse-fire from the closet doorway reduced what was left to a smoking, steaming wreck. He turned back to the doorway full of penal legionnaires, directing the majority of his attention to the former PDF trooper who still had him covered, and tried to think of something really persuasive to say. Behind him the Commissar finished reloading, took careful aim, and shot him in the head too. Down on the floor, Nubby gave up his attempts to hand over his autopistol to the dead Interrogator, looked around at the carnage, and announced he was "not it" for telling Sarge.

>>84886394

he may have been out of action for a while, but goddamn if Commissar Kelly still can't stone-cold execute a motherfucker

i was really not feeling good about the commissar as an addition to the team but he really is living up to the title of 'The Good Commissar'

The Gang Performs The Extrajudicial Murder Of An Entire Inquisitorial Retinue

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>>84886410

As it turned out, Tink was "it", since he was the one who finally got the combeads working. The techie's broken shins had been splinted, and he'd been given stimm from Doc's recently-recovered field aid kit, which was enough to get him propped upright at the dead psyker's cogitator. What really got Tink moving though, was the sight of a trainee unpacking Spot 3.0 (complete with Grox-skull disguise and a little cartoon daemonthope kill-marker etched next to the one of the bonked Eldar). Rather than sit and figure out the cogitator's functions like a sane person, Tink had, giggling, ripped out several datafeeds and hooked both the cogitator and Inquisitorial facility's security systems directly into his techno-heretical xenos toy. The mayhem was instantaneous.

There were more alarms, of course (after so long aboard the Occurrence Border they barely registered anymore), but that was nothing compared to the deafening babble of every comm channel in the facility rebooting into full un-jammed and un-psykered functionality. This included the private channel used by the other Inquisition team as it turned out, which combined with the gunfire, explosions, and assorted security alerts coming from Oak's vault, was enough to throw pretty much the entire facility into confused chaos. Our comm channel, through the techno-magic of "live colonel patching", was re-routed through Spot the wonder drone. The fact that Sarge was actually glad to hear Tink's voice spoke volumes.

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>>84886428
that's x-com baby

>>84886428
Beautiful thus far. God bless you, glorious bastard.

>>84886428
Ah yes, chaos and confusion. The perfect situation for our heroes.

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>>84886428

The overall tactical situation was a mess. Sarge, Aimy, and Twitch, aided by the scribes they'd "rescued", had managed to hold their position in Oak's primary vault. The big vault door and its inbuilt void-shield had held for a while, but it wasn't long before someone on the outside managed to bypass the door's controls, only to find a giant pile of clamshelled junk, overturned shelving units, random boxes, and the odd psyker corpse blocking their way. Combined with the firing slits manned (or womanned given it was Aimy doing most of the work) by us and the more enthusiastic scribes, the hostiles hadn't managed to make any real progress before the arrival of the facility's actual security forces distracted them. Said hostiles had coordinated a defense, involving both mundane and psyker assets, vastly aided by their control of the security systems and the lack of functional comm channels, at least until Tink pulled off his little trick. All in all, Sarge's team would've been in a great position, if it weren't for the fact that his and Twitch's collars had more or less incapacitated them, and were making some very worrying imminent-detonation-indicating beeps.

Team Doc was in a better position, if worse shape given Tink's broken legs, Doc's broken ribs, and Nubby's rather hazy mental state after the repeated psychic attacks. The trainees had all come through the fiasco unscathed, and were unloading the room at a rapid rate now that Tink had announced that there was no point worrying about setting off alarms. In short order everyone was armed and equipped, Oak's special boxes had been extracted, and the only questions left were who to send to relieve Sarge's team, and unfortunately, what to do with the Commissar.

I fall asleep to the TTS AGP almost every night and I don't notice any stylistic drift so far.

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>>84886501

Our valiant Commissar (unironically, given the man's recent kill-count), was not only awake, but borderline coherent as well. A hurried, semi-factual explanation that we were here to collect Aimy's stuff, but had been ambushed by Inquisitorial traitors, was accepted readily enough. As was our insistence that it'd all been his idea, including the part where three of us were disguised as HQ Stormtroopers. The sticking point was the man's insistence on not only participating in, but leading some sort of sortie and "killin more of those fancy rosette-sucking bastards", as well as rescuing Aimy. And her nice tits. Also his refusal to give up either his laspistol or bottle.

Combined with Tink's broken legs and insistence that he needed to stay at the cogitator, the decision was quickly reached to allow the Commissar his little adventure, if only to get his Commissarial dataslate in range of Sarge and Twitch. Doc had to go as well, as de facto commander, and Nubby was drafted to push the pallet and keep the Commissar under supervision, while the trainees were directed to stay put, keep our evac secure, and finish prepping our gear for extraction. The final member of the rescue team was Spot, now disconnected from the security system, and hovering invisibly ahead of the relief force, performing the usual scouting duties as well as acting as a door-opening guide-skull.

In short order the Commissar's pallet was loaded with Oak's spooky boxes, an impressive supply of ammunition, and a sizable crate of grenades, detpacks, and mines for our poor, undersupplied demo-trooper. The Commissar, growing increasingly excited at the prospect of a valiant charge, didn't seem to notice that all these were placed in cover behind him, rather than the reverse, and eagerly bellowed at Nubby to push him faster, so he could hit the vile heretics with his (now empty) drink.

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>>84886525

With Tink and Spot's scouting and door-opening, the relief force crossed the facility in a remarkably short time, with no hindrances greater than the occasional panicked Scribe or Stomtrooper dodging out of the way and yelling at us for violating the facility rules on both running and riding pallets. This abruptly changed when we reached the "broken" junction connecting to Oak's hallway, where Spot spotted a fireteam of disguised Inquisitorial agents that had set up a fortified position by propping three of the doors open with heavy crates. Their opponents, a few disorganized Stormtroopers trying to leapfrog up one of the side halls, seemed to be holding the majority of their attention.

Doc called a short halt at the junction door between us and the hostiles' killzone, where a very confused and slightly-shot Stormtrooper armed with nothing but a dataslate warned everyone not to open the door if we didn't want to get shot. The medic, after a brief pause to hit the man with a stimm and toss him both a field dressing and a laspistol, evaluated the tactical possibilities and proposed popping our own door open enough to hit them with a quick nade barrage, and then moving up in tandem with the Stormtroopers in the other hall. This plan completely failed to account for the Commissar, who berated him for his cowardice, shouted at the wounded Stormtrooper to stop bleeding, get up, and open the door and ordered Nubby to charge. Amazingly, not only did both troopers follow these dubious orders, so did Tink.

In the dead-psyker-closet, our techie consulted Spot's view from above the enemy's makeshift pillbox, and tried to figure out which icons on the cogitator (all of them now in Tau script) corresponded to which door. After nearly three seconds of this tedious drudgery, he shrugged, and just mashed them all.

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>>84886551

As every single hall, room, and closet door in the area abruptly locked open, the confusion level rose by several notches, especially for the four (presumably) Conspiracy agents holding the junction, who suddenly had a lot less cover to work with. They were so busy scrambling for cover from the no-longer-suppressed Stormtroopers that they didn't even notice Nubby and the Commissar until the first few poorly aimed laspistol shots hit the walls/floor/ceiling around them. Doc's shots, rather better aimed thanks to his stationary position (not to mention sobriety) and Spot's Tau marker-thingy, dropped a deformed young man dressed as a scribe. Combined with the wounded Stormtrooper's own covering fire and the fusilade coming from the side hall, the enemy barely managed to get a single volley of poorly-aimed shots off before the Commissar, Nubby, and the pallet full of high explosives and eldritch boxes reached them.

Of course, since neither Nubby or the Commissar had put any thought into STOPPING the pallet, the fight literally didn't stop there. The (now only two) agents watched in stunned surprise as the pallet, with the Commissar flailing a bottle in one hand and a pistol in the other, and Nubby hunched up behind him wildly firing his pulse-carbine, barrelled right through the junction. The whole "stopping" problem was then solved by the more substantial barricade of boxes, along with a vox unit, the man in the big hat sitting on the floor and yelling into said vox unit, and the medicae patching said man's numerous frag wounds.

>>84886551
This is as wonderful as it is long. Bless you for taking the time shoggy.

>>84886580
What a way to go, the mad lad

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>>84886580

There was an audible crunch as the heavy pallet bounced over Inquisitor Big-Hat's knees, briefly dragging the screaming man along as the charge crashed to a halt in a scattered pile of Inquisitorial evidence boxes. Nubby, screaming just as much, though in blind panic as opposed to pain, turned around as the Inquisitor finally rolled free, and hosed the man with point-blank automatic pulse-fire. The burst was followed, rather too late, by a crackling buzzing sound and the man's leaking corpse teleporting away. Nubby shrugged, shot the crumpled form of the medicae a few times instead, and then hopped up to help the Commissar fire wildly down the hallway full of panicking conspiracy agents.

In Oak's vault, Sarge and Twitch cursed in relief as their collars finally stopped with the shocking and beeping, and staggered up to the barricade just in time to take advantage of the ensuing chaos. Aimy, with the advantage of prior warning and Tink's drone hastily marking her targets, managed to drop two agents in stormtrooper armor before the fight even properly started. On cue, the two least-scrawny Scribes yanked away one of the shelves forming the right side of the barricade, and Sarge and Twitch squeezed through the gap. Under the dubious cover of the Commissar and Nubby's random firing, Sarge and Twitch sprinted (well, more "lurched") past two distracted storm-agents, who didn't have time to turn and follow before Aimy's second volley dropped them as well.

Reaching the open door of the lower-security vault across the hall, Sarge and Twitch swept the room (finding nothing more dangerous than two more terrified and confused scribes), and took up firing positions as the initial confused chaos began to resolve into a proper firefight.

Or it would've, if BOTH sides had brought a crate of grenades.

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>>84886606


At Twitch's urgent insistence, Nubby abandoned the barricade to the somehow-still-unshot Commissar, and cracked open a good old fashioned big box of boom. Well, more of a big box of assorted thrown munitions, because the first two to pop over the barricade were flashes, followed by another pair of smokes and the Commissar's empty bottle. The bottle's owner, who hadn't caught the "flashes out", swore and continued firing undeterred.

Under this cover, Sarge and Twitch put the last of their shots into the stunned idiot pretend-stormtroopers who'd neglected to actually wear their damn helmets' photo-visors. For all the damage they did though, it was Aimy that really convinced the rest of the hallway's occupants to get into cover and stay there. One eye closed and the other held directly to the xenotech scope on her beloved rifle, she leaned out into the hall and started picking off enemies through the billowing smoke as Spot the Wonder Drone marked them.

Of course the enemy, being, you know, Inquisitorial Agents too (and presumably better trained ones at that), did not take this lying down. Our little dynamic entry had blown open their rear flank, and scattered the unprepared reserves and specialists, but they rapidly began laying down their own covering fire and coordinating a tactical advance. Worse, from the far end of the hall, where there seemed to be some sort of ongoing firefight with some security Stormtroopers, a gangly form that glowed FAR too brightly on Spot's thermal imaging turned from the fight. Aimy swore as the figure pointed an arm directly towards her and fired an Emperor-damn melta beam out of his hand.

I forgot how long posting actually took.

Like 15 more posts to go.

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>>84886635

For once, Aimy actually bloody ducked, barely dodging under the beam as it blasted a glowing hole through several crates and a fair bit of wall, as well as setting the barricade on fire. Sarge looked on with an expression of appropriately sergeantly approval, which transformed into an evil grin as Nubby hucked a bandolier of frags into Twitch's waiting hands. Acting before someone could tell him not to, Twitch pulled a single pin off the bandolier, sent the whole thing whirling down the smoke-filled hall, and told Nubby to toss him another. There were no further pyromantic melta beams.

Covering grenade barrages being more effective than covering fire, Sarge decided he could be spared to do some sergeanting, and began coordinating the actual secret mission part of the secret mission. The growing collection of terrified, psychically-traumatized Scribes cowering inside the assorted vaults was barked into order under the pretense of an evacuation. This evac was unexpectedly aided by the Commissar, still firing wildly down the hallway, slurrily announcing that he'd come to save them and urging them to hurry while he had the heretics pinned.

The remarkably orderly file of aged pencil-pushers filed along the edges of the hall, and were passed into the care of a puffing, limping Doc and the wounded Stormtrooper he'd seemingly adopted. In an act of actual tactical brilliance, the medic used this influx of civvies as an excuse to redirect the rest of the reinforcing Stormtroopers coming up the side-hall back around to help their compatriots fighting to take the far junction. The sight of Twitch giddily dispensing grenades down smoking, burning hallway strongly reinforced the tactical sense of not going this way, and the Stomrtroopers departed without argument.

>>84886648
Damn keep em coming

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>>84886674

With the civvies (not to mention witnesses) out of the way, and Nubby finished dispensing munitions, Sarge dropped back to help the little trooper haul Oak's boxes off the pallet and crouch-run them down to the main vault. The barricade being slightly collapsed and on fire, the noncom declined to try and worm his way through personally, and jammed Nubby and the boxes through one of the gaps, before voxing Tink to ask if he knew why the damn fire-suppression system wasn't working. He then swore as a sudden geyser of white powder began shooting out of every air vent in the hallway, along with even more alarms.

More surprising, and considerably more distracting, was the sudden appearance of several conspiracy agents sprinting up the hall. Whether seizing the reduced vision as a chance to charge our position, or just withdraw from the besieged junction, the sudden rush was more than Twitch's indiscriminate barrage could handle alone, and both Sarge and Aimy hastily returned to firing down the hall.

In between scanning the hallway for the next marker-lit form, coughing, and cursing his helmet's lack of a rebreather, Sarge bellowed at Nubby to swap Oak's boxes with the empty ones on the table and get back out here. He was less than happy to have a nasal little voice ask what to do with all the stuff in our boxes, because a lot of it was just traffic tickets, but some of it looked pretty valuable (specifically "all dese really fancy techy fingies"). Sarge, sparing an exasperated second to explain to Nubby that he'd been supposed to unload the boxes BEFORE bringing them (and no "a psyker made me do it" is STILL not a valid excuse for skiving out of one's duties), and to just dump them all in the other boxes, since we were bringing them back out with us. Nubby asked if that included the parking tickets, and was told to shut up and soldier, soldier, before Sarge came in there and gave him a demonstration.

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>>84886703

Properly motivated, it didn't take long for Nubby to do the swap. Before the attacking Conspiracy agents could accomplish anything more than getting their two pointmen shot, Nubby and the incriminating crates squeezed back out into the hallway, and the withdrawal started. Twitch, who'd scrambled back to the pallet when he'd run out of grenades again, started dispensing the leftover frags and smokes. Combined with Aimy's overwatch, this was decent enough cover for Sarge and Nubby's sprint back to the pallet with the cargo. Swearing at eachother as the occasional blind-fired lasbolt scorched overhead, and swearing at the Commissar when one of his even less-aimed shots actually hit Sarge in the shoulder (to no effect), the pair hefted the boxes back onto the pallet, and then covered Aimy's retreat.

The Conspiracy agents made their move with perfect timing, starting their attack at the exact same moment Aimy started her sprint. A tight cluster of the ones in Stormtrooper uniforms made a mad sprint through the edge of the smoke, taking up Aimy's old position as if they'd actually planned and practiced the whole maneuver. Even more shocking than their sudden appearance, was the enemy's ability to not only use cover intelligently, but to actually do it better than us. Sarge traded two shots for zero hits, a terrifying graze along his helmet, and shot that somehow, despite his cover and all sane logic, managed to him square in the left leg. Twitch at least managed to drop one, before a downright ridiculously well-timed lasbolt nailed him in the chestplate mid second-shot, not quite penetrating fortunately. Nubby, not being a chump, decided to keep his head down and perform the very important task of turning the Commissar's pallet around in preparation for imminent cheesing-it. The Commissar, seemingly unaware of the danger, or the fact that he'd been shot twice, bellowed incomprehensibly as he turned in his seat to keep firing.

>>84886722
Ahh the old ways, overcome cheese with cheese.

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>>84886722

Amazingly, despite this sudden onslaught, Aimy managed her sprint without taking a hit. Whether luck or Fate, she managed to duck or dodge every shot fired her way, ending in a final little hop onto turning pallet and taking up a firing position leaning around the Commissar's rotating chair. This heroic maneuver was subsequently spoiled by a spookily well-aimed lasbolt which would've nailed the markswoman in the face, if it hadn't had the bulk of the Commissar's leg to burn through on its way.

Despite having an entire limb charred to uselessness, the Commissar didn't seem to notice this injury any more than his others, at least not until his effort to keep turning and firing led him to actually put his weight on the appendage. The Commissar's collapse more or less directly onto Aimy was followed by his augmetically-connected chair, which at least offered the pair some cover. Sarge and Twitch, who also had cover, not that it seemed to be doing anything, hurriedly crawled backwards out of the contested hallway as eerily curving lasbolts landed around them. Sarge made a little pained grunting sound as one of them found their mark in the general vicinity of his already-shot leg, and flopped prone halfway through the door. Fortunately Nubby, standing by exactly for such an occasion (as opposed to just, you know, standing by) was able to grab the big noncom's arm, and drag him the rest of the way into the junction and around the corner. Overhead, a translucent blur shot by, and the hallway's heavy security door slammed shut.

>>84885246
Did Sarges player put the ID on his hand IRL as well?

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>>84886753

The panting silence that followed was punctuated by the sound of a few dozen lasbolts plinking ineffectively off the closed door, as well as the Commissar and Aimy's curses, and Sarge informing everyone present that he'd been shot in the ass. Twice. Doc, standing in one of the side-halls with the better part of a dozen real Stormtroopers, and what looked to be even more Scribes than he'd started with, took this as an invitation.

Doc's triage started with Sarge, but his heroic butt-wounds were passed over in favor of the Commissar's half-shot-off leg. While the medic did his work, the question of why the Scribes were still around was raised, and Doc explained that they'd been unwilling to go anywhere without a trusted escort. Despite the shot-ness of his ass, our heroic commander could still recognize a tactical moment when he stepped in one, and loudly announced that we'd leave this position to the Stormtroopers while we pulled back with the non-combatants to the, uh, aid station. The one that definitely existed.

Whether it was respect for someone who'd just stormed the position they'd been assaulting (and with half their numbers), or thankfulness for how much easier the big closed door made their job, or just Sarge's sargeness, the Stormtroopers let us and the Scribes leave without any awkward questions. Sarge was loaded onto the pallet, along with a crate for Doc to sit on while he worked on patching the Commissar's wounds, and Nubby started pushing them along while Aimy and Twitch took point and rearguard. The Commissar, having been hauled back upright along with his chair by some helpful Stormtroopers, perked up as Doc hit him with a stimm and (at the medic's urging), bellowed the gaggle of scribes into semi-orderly ranks behind us as we made our leisurely retreat.

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>>84886791

In the time it took the overloaded pallet and small army of Scribes to traverse the facility, both Sarge and the Commissar were patched up to the point of functionality, and a few ideas about how to ditch our baggage and extract were floated. To nobody's surprise it was Doc's plan that Sarge ended up adopting: specifically the part where he suggested offloading both the Scribes and the Commissar together, leaving us free to get the hell out of there before the Inquisition got its shit together.

Aimy was sent ahead, and greeted us at what was now the "dead-psyker-hallway" in her cadet-commissar uniform (though still holding her pulse rifle). In a feat of genuinely good acting, the markswoman congratulated the Commissar on his successful mission to rescue "the bureaucratic lifeblood of the Imperium", and reported that she and her penal legionnaires had secured the room full of unconscious naked guys as he'd instructed. The Commissar, who'd been brought nearly to the point of sobriety between the adrenaline and Doc's stimms, gave Aimy a slightly dubious look as she lauded his tactical genius and selfless bravery, but was smart enough to just shut up and roll with it.

>>84886788

Well, character sheet, but same thing really.

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>>84886813

Between Aimy and the ex-Scribe trainee, the elderly Commissar was prompted through a very, very, creative interpretation of the day's events. It started believably enough with him volunteering to help collect her things, and then quickly veering into complete fiction at the part where his boon companion Commissar Sourface tipped us off to some sort of foul doings in the evidence building. By the end of it, both elderly Commissars had been painted as the biggest damn commissarial heroes since bloody Cain, and despite literally all evidence to the contrary, the still-growing mob of frightened pencil-pushers ate it up like Nubby at a buffet.

The one sticky moment in all this was when Commissar Kelly, hero of the Imperium, raised the question of what had happened to Commissar Sourface. After a brief pause for thought, Aimy straight-facedly explained to both the man and the audience that Sourface had died. Heroically. The Commissar's expression didn't change much, but he grinned a little as he leaned in, and asked just how heroically she meant. Aimy grinned a little too, and quietly informed him that we'd had to use a bucket to hold all the little pieces. The pair shared a moment of profound mutual satisfaction at this word picture, and then the old Commissar sat back up, winked at her, and began loudly eulogizing his longest-serving comrade to the assembled audience.

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>>84886837

Behind all this, several overloaded pallets were quietly lined up in the hallway, and five stormtroopers and five legionnaires became ten legionnaires, all ready to depart with Lady Von Humpeding's personal effects, if she was done here. We had a ship to catch after all. Catching the hint nicely, Commissar Kelly waved Aimy and the rest of us off, promising to stay here and keep the Scribes safe until the all-clear came. As we nonchalantly rounded the corner (and then immediately kicked it up to a full sprint), we could hear the familiar voice of "the good Scribe" (operating on a suggestion from one of the trainees), asking if it was true the two Commissars had stationed here under orders of the Ordos Chronos. The helpful old Scribe seemed very concerned about how long it'd been since anyone had reviewed the hold-pending order, and suggested there might be something that could be done to resolve the issue. He seemed rather shocked when the Commissar burst into tears.


Our vague plan for changing back into our legionnaire uniforms and exiting inconspicuously via the freight bay hit a snag when the two squads of now-fully-armed-and-armored Stormtroopers stationed there immediately spotted us. Two of the stormtroopers made a beeline for us, causing a brief moment of panic, until we recognized the freshly cleaned chainsword (and bandaged fingers) on the Storm-Rupert, backed up by the bulky form of what was presumably the same Sergeant from the front desk.

>>84886916

The more he saves the party, the more I'm in love with Commissar Kelly.

The only good Commissar.

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>>84886916

While Aimy fielded the Storm-Rupert and his proudly proffered Chainsword with the rigid politeness of someone who desperately wanted to just shoot the man, the Security Sergeant scanned our whole group and then bore down on Sarge. In a hushed voice, the noncom had asked we had any idea what in the Emperor's name was going on, because some incompetent screwhead of an excuse for a techpriest had not only managed to accidently crash the comm network, they'd actually done it twice, and it was all he could do to keep the Storm-Rupert from going off to reconoiter.

Tink took offense at this description, beginning to explain that while the first time had been an accident, taking it back down the second time had been totally intentional. Sarge cut this all off before it could start, and gave his brother non-officer a level look, before bluntly announcing that "word was" that Inquisitor Big Hat had rolled in with an infiltration force complete with psyker support, got caught, and got shot. The Security Sergeant swore in the familiar tone of someone who'd "told them this was going to happen", and marched off to extract the Storm-Rupert from an exceedingly unwise attempt to buckle Aimy's holster on for her.

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>>84886949

We completed our exit without further violence, if only barely, and beat a restrained retreat back towards the camp. As we approached, it became obvious that embarkation was in full swing, and there wasn't much time before people started being marked AWOL. In fact, it was already past that point, according to the panicked-looking Cadet Commissar Sniffy, who ran up from where he'd been leaning outside the front gate (conveniently out of sight of any superior officers), and demanded to know where in the Emperor's name we'd been and Commissar Kelly still was.

Cadet Sniffy's questions had been directed at the ex-Scribe trainee, presumably because of their working relationship managing the Commissar's paperwork, but seemed just as willing to accept an answer from fellow-cadet Aimy. Both of them just looked at Sarge though, and the noncom grudgingly hauled himself up from his comfortable spot lying face-down on one of the boxes.

Once again going for brevity, Sarge announced that we'd gone to get Aimy's shit, Commissars Kelly and Sourface had gotten themselves involved in an internal Inquisition pissing match, again, and we'd left them to it in favor of catching our ride off this bloody rock. Cadet Sniffy's face was a study in anxiety as he processed this and desperately tried to figure out where the feces were going to fall, and how best to avoid getting any of it on him.

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>>84886969

arge, seeing a young sorta-officer in desperate need of some handling, limped over and put a paternal (not to mention sweaty, blood-spattered, and very heavy) arm around Cadet Sniffy's shoulders. He quietly reassured the young man that he didn't need to worry, because old Kelly had been looking out for him. Or to be more precise, he'd been looking out for Aimy, and had asked his inexplicably reconciled old enemy Sourface to field-promote her, as well as transferring her to the outgoing legion. At this point, Sarge gave Tink a meaningful look, which the techie missed entirely as he sat on his make-shift throne of spooky-boxes, blatantly screwing around with a slightly bloody commissarial dataslate. Twitch had to poke him.

Cadet Sniffy wasn't quite dim enough to miss Tink's self-narrated exploration of the slate's personnel management tool, but this meant he was bright enough not to raise a fuss and get his neck broken. Nubby helpfully informed the bug-eyed Cadet this was one of them posthumous promotion thingies, totally legit. Sniffy hesitantly checked his dataslate's little digital org-chart of permanent base personnel, marveling at Aimy's new status as his (provisional) superior, until she abruptly disappeared off it entirely. Sarge grinned down at the trembling young cadet-commissar, and asked whether he'd like a promotion and transfer too. Provisional Commissar Sniffy nodded.

>>84886980
S

>>84886991
arges

>>84886991
Provo Commissar SSniffy

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>>84886980

Aided and abetted by the increasingly optimistic Sniffy, we managed to walk our entire convoy straight onto one the massive troop-lifters nestled into the mud of the mustering field. There was a brief hiccup as a cogboy leapt into our path, nearly going down under the wheels of Twitch's pallet, but he only seemed to be interested in "re-santifying our collars' machine-spirits", that and all the mud. Once a servitor had hosed us off, it was just a matter of requisitioning a cargo unit for Commissar Von Humpeding's personal effects, and then settling into our assigned seats like good little Penal Legionnaires.

It was a nerve-wrenching hour before our lifter sealed its hatches, but no Inquisitors, Stormtroopers, or Senior Commissars came looking for us. In fact, the chaos of what seemed to be a very rushed deployment was enough to keep anyone aside from the odd grimly-curious legionnaire from asking any questions, and it wasn't hard for Aimy to quash those.

The transfer to the high-security munitorum troop-ship, already packed near-full with three other legions and their attendant Commissarial blocking units, was a bit trickier, involving dodging Senior Commissars, Munitorum bean-counters, and an overly inquisitive cyber-mastiff. Fortunately, a combination of lies, bribery, and Tink's continued infiltration of the Commissarial data net got all of us aboard, including the nervous Sniffy, who practically sobbed with relief when Sarge and Aimy finally said he could go. As the painfully-junior Commissar jogged off to catch his transfer shuttle, Aimy confided that she and Tink had found him a ground-logistics unit whose Commissarial berth had been left empty for the better part of two centuries. She hoped he liked long drives.

>>84887011
...Poor sniffy

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>>84887011

Rather than put any poor overworked Munitorum and Commissariat busybodies through the effort of finding somewhere to put us, we secured our own berth in a small cargobay which had been mysteriously assigned to both organizations, depending on which datanet you checked. The door was then locked, barred, and rigged with directional mines by a hysterically relieved Twitch.

Perimeter secure at bloody last, Sarge finally gave the order to stand down, and then limped to the front of the line for Tink to remove his damn collar. Fourth in this line, per guard-issue pecking order, was Nubby, who brought up the question of where to shove "dis techy fing dat won fit back in its box". The oblong conglomeration of slightly-battered electronics that Nubby pulled from his pocket looked like almost nothing Tink had ever seen. Admittedly, that "almost" was doing a lot of work standing in for the time we'd re-discovered a Necron ship retrofitted with a techno-heretical combination of Tau and Imperial tech.

>>84887011
>>84887018
>ground-logistics unit whose Commissarial berth had been left empty for the better part of two centuries
What am I missing?

>>84887022
did nubby lift a digital weapon off the "hostile" infiltration team?

>>84887024

Nothing, we just shoved him into a logistics unit. He gets to drive trucks all day, every day.

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>>84887022
>dis techy fing dat won fit back in its box
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

>>84887024
Its a Siberia post. They sent him to the boonies for the rest of his hopefully quiet career, which should suit him just fine.

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>>84887022

The question of why Nubby had a bunch of archeotech in his pocket was immediately raised by literally everyone present, though per tradition, Sarge was allowed to lead the interrogation. Nubby's expression rapidly shifted from "proudly proactive procurer" to "guy who didn do nuffin an nobody saw 'im anyways", as he explained that someone had installed fake bottoms in OUR spooky boxes like WE wouldn't notice. Even worse, they'd done it with OUR stuff, or at least he was pretty sure that both the cardboard and the faux-velvet lining came from his stash in that one closet just down the hall from the psyker containment cells back on the Occurrence Border. He'd been debating ripping it all out, it being his personal property and Sarge INSISTING that EVERYTHING was supposed to come out of our spooky boxes, but then they wouldn't have matched the inside of the boxes they were replacing. Which was all why he'd stuck to simply grabbing the "techy fing" that'd been hidden inside the last box's fake bottom.

The said "techy fing" was, well, a techy thing. What it did or how it was supposed to be controlled was unclear, but parts of it were definitely recognizable as "ours". Tink identified several Tau-ish components as parts of Spot 2.0, along with a few others from one of the frequently-repaired psi-suppressors, and what he swore was a piece of our wraithbone. Just as recognizable, if much, much less "ours", was the fist-sized Necron cube wedged in the middle of the thing. The little yellow sticky note saying "THIS END TOWARDS THE DAEMON" was new though…

>>84887044
the deamon that they gunned down as it was manifesting???

>>84887044
....Ohhhhhh, ohh no, thats a Tesseract Labyrinth

>>84887060

Nah, the Tesseract we looted from the Necron ship.

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>>84887038
>>84887044

>>84887042

do you think he'll get to execute a truck if it doesn't go fast enough?

throne damn it nubby

This is so damn cool man

>>84887044
God bless Bill and those techbros.

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>>84887044

There was not a reaming, Sarge was too tired. Instead, the question of how to un-fuck-up this most monumental of fuck-ups was raised and vigorously debated. The whole concept of going back down to the evidence building and putting the damn thing back was rejected, though the idea of sending Nubby to do it himself had a certain grim appeal to it.

A distant second best would be getting the device itself back to Inquisitor Oak, or at the very least a message to the effect of "someone accidentally disarmed your super secret archeotech anti-daemon mine", but that was hampered by the man's status as the Inquisition's most-wanted. Not only did we not know where the man was or how to reach him, we weren't even sure there was anyone else who actually did. The Interrogator he'd sent to help us was long gone, and the only other one of his agents known to us was the little old lady Adept who'd helped railroad us into the penal legion. Even if we could get either the device or a message through Inquisition security to the Adept, there wasn't a guarantee she'd be in a position to actually do anything. The trainees (not that term remotely applied anymore) were making a solid argument for just waiting for our promised extraction from the penal legion, especially on the grounds of how it'd serve the slippery old bastard right if he turned out to have been lying about getting us out, when Aimy brought up one last option.

Our markswoman very reluctantly announced that she knew someone who would know how to reach Oak if anyone did, and she was in orbit right now. Specifically, she was aboard the Exorcist-class Grand Cruiser, Furious Avenger, along with a whole regiment of Palladium Super Heavy Armor and with the better part of half a battlegroup in tow. When several seconds went by without anyone asking the obvious question, Aimy finally admitted she was talking about her mother.

>>84887068
OH its the thing the heretek wanted at the ridiculous standoff. the device for devicing devices, or whatever.

>>84887087

Yup. It's a tesseract. It tesseracts things.

>>84887073
Probably more of this
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T4yxZ7zBaiY

so all the super heretical artifact containing boxes hid the tesseract vault which was to be used to capture the daemon that oak has been hunting for centuries-

The 40k equivalent of a master ball for our pokemon professor inquisitor

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>>84887084

At least the presence of Lady General Von Humpeding, along with several regiments of loyal guardsmen and not-insignificant amount of naval firepower, explained why everyone had been practically bending over backwards for Aimy. She assured us she hadn't actually known herself though, not until she and Tink had looked through the local-system org-chart for somewhere to send Sniffy. The trainees, not having benefited from any of Aimy's highly-educational drunken 3AM rants about her mother, needed to be brought up to speed on Aimy's mom's rank and how Oak had used her to get us assigned to the penal legion. The rambling stories about Lady General Mom literally crushing the bones of her political rivals under the treads of her baneblade, Becky, and even letting an eight year old Aimy drive on one occasion, were left out.

Aimy firmly asserted that her mother was "totally fucking in on all this Inquisitorial bullshit or she wouldn't be here" and would be able to get a message to Oak at the very least. The question of whether she could do the same with the device itself was answered for us as the thrum of the troop-ship's activating engines informed us that the embarkation had gone a lot faster than we'd expected. This was, for quite a few reasons, not a good thing.

Tink, in a moment very reminiscent of our inglorious retreat from a certain Tau-ish PDF base, whipped out Sourface's dataslate and started taking dictation from Aimy and Sarge. While Doc kept Twitch and Nubby from "helping" and the trainees viewed the whole situation with bemused alarm, a very, very straightforward sitrep was written, encrypted, tagged with some code-words Aimy supplied, and sent off via the Commissariat's data-network as the highest-security communique the dataslate could send.

Then, realizing we actually had a few hours before we left the range of the orbital comm network, Aimy grabbed the dataslate and wrote a rather more in-depth and better-spelled version.

>>84887121

That is literally the entire plot. Like, all of it.

>>84887141
so, instead of hiding the pokeball claymore, nubby just pocketed it and then left the planet. so the whole penal legion infiltration ended up being a complete wash?

>>84887121
Gotta catch em all

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>>84887129

We hadn't gotten a response by the time we transited into the warp, which was almost a relief given how beat up and exhausted we all were. Doc set about actually treating everyone's wounds, including a visit to the ship's medbay to get Tink's legs set properly. This cunning infiltration was accomplished by trading out our collars and penal legion uniforms for our old Guard kit and identifying ourselves as "Guardsman, Generian 99th, Detached". The same trick got us into the mess, laundry, and even the Astropathic Sanctum, though that last one turned out to be a bust. It wasn't that they caught us or something, it was just that the Astropaths were all in psychic isolation to protect them from the warp-shadow of the encroaching Tyranid splinter-fleet we were being sent off to "delay".

The news of our destination wasn't really that big a deal in and of itself: after all, when you're in a penal legion every mission is a suicide mission. We were just glad it wasn't Orks. It did recontextualize the whole situation though, from the incredibly rushed embarkation, to the presence of Lady General Von Humpeding and her battle group. The one question it really left was whether Oak was actually a cunning enough bastard for an Emperor-damned Tyranid incursion to be part of his plans, or if we were about to be hung out to dry by sheer bad luck. This conundrum was the primary topic of discussion for the majority of the trip, and kept us nicely distracted (and Twitch and Nubby out of trouble), until we reached our destination just over a week later.

>>84882054
Neckbeardia must be frying from happiness

>>84887160
1d4chan is nuked, there is no more neckbeardia

>>84887141
And Nubby took the masterball out of the carefully planned trap, so now you habe to figure out a way to bait said daemon into walking infront of the masterball again?

Awesome.

>>84887150

Pretty much, though we DID burn down half the evidence building, kill an entire Conspiracy team on the way.

When you're claiming the collateral damage and a pro as opposed to a con, that's how you know you've hit rock bottom I guess.

>>84887172

Though should we really expect more, considering the results of the last stealth mission?

>>84887172
I mean, less bad guys is less bad guys. Sarge would approve in eliminating dangerous opponents, even if it did cost him sitting comfortably for a month or two.
Well, maybe he would approve more if it had been Nubby or Tink that got a new, albeit temporary, asshole.

You know, most of what I know about W40k comes from these stories. The local fans always get these horrified looks on their faces when I tell them that.

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>>84887156

The debarkation of the four penal legions was less rushed, the Nids' arrival time having been more firmly pinned down by some sort of techno-psykery. Our first inclination, to stay in our hidey-hole until the ship was mostly empty, and nobody who might recognize us and ask questions was around, was foiled as a munitorum clerk came down our hallway, opening bays for inventory and inspection. Twitch barely got his mines disarmed in time.

We reluctantly put our penal legion uniforms back on as well as our collars (deactivated, of course), and formed up with all our gear in a convoy around a very Commissarial-looking Aimy. There were a few sketchy moments, especially when some familiar goon-ish looking legionnaires tried to route our little baggage train through the quartermaster's tents for "inventory". They desisted after Aimy shot one in the knee, but that led to some very curious looks from the assorted Commissars present, and a tactical withdrawal behind one of the landing craft was all that kept us from an encounter with the Commadant-cum-Commander.

Somehow we made it to evening muster without things devolving into bloodshed, and tediously stoic-ed our way through an only slightly grimmer-than-usual pre-action speech from the brass. Things didn't get interesting until the Commissar Commander waved forward "the Inquisitor", and announced the need for "volunteers" for a vortex-bomb deep strike on the lead Tyranid elements.

The Inquisitor, nestled in a suit of Guard-issue power armor, hadn't stood out from the other battlefield-brass milling around the command tent. Neither had his two psykers, at least not until one of them started bouncing up and down waving at us, until his senior firmly hushed him back into order. Following the young psyker's gaze, the Inquisitor stomped over and loudly requested a:

>"Right Sergeantly chap with a band of stout lads primed for a bit of derring-do and conspicuous valor in the face of the unholy, wot wot!"

>>84887197

In my opinion, if you're taking 40k seriously, you're doing it wrong.

Did you as a player screw up on purpose and take the tesseract or was it part of Failer's plans?

>>84887201
THE RUPERT MAKES HIS GLORIOUS RETURN IN THEIR DARKEST HOUR

>>84887213

Yes. Very much yes.

I can honestly state that I purposely failed every Nubby Check sent my way.

>>84887201

HOLY SHIT

As soon as the Junior Rupert was mentioned I thought to myself, "man I wonder what happened to the real Rupert"

HERE HE IS

>>84887201
IT'S OUR BOY

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>>84887230
Godspeed, you magnificent bastard.

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>>84887044
Oh.
Oh, no.
Oh, yes!

>>84887212
Add Nuffle to 40k GW you cowards. I want a dark space marine legion in the thrall of the football god

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>>84887201

As if that wasn't enough, The Rupert strode over, Alfred and Fumbles in tow, and greeted his distant cousin, Lady Amelia Delorisista Amanita Trigestrata Zeldana Malifee von Humpeding, and asked if she'd ever seen a Vortex Bomb. Commissar Aimy blinked with a sense of vague recognition, and announced that she and her "honor guard" stood ready, willing, and eager to see what an exeterminatus-grade munition could do to the enemies of the Emperor.

As a whole unit, we grabbed our shit and double-timed it for the familiar-looking stealth shuttle sitting at the edge of the field. The Commissar Commander practically sprinted over, presumably to inform The Rupert of Aimy's non-expendable status, but suddenly got distracted as Fumbles and Alfred both glared in his direction. The Commander was still busy chewing out a random cadet for some minor, possibly imaginary, uniform infraction when we scrambled aboard the "gifted" Emperor's Scythes stealth shuttle and immediately lifted off. At that point, the fact that the shuttle's pilot turned out to be Jim barely even qualified as a surprise.

Introductions were made, along with the traditional "fancy seeing you here" quips, and a rather protracted role-call of the Rupert and Aimy's mutual families. Surprisingly, we didn't have to introduce the trainees, as The Rupert greeted them each by name (which was better than we could do), and declared himself to be "downright chuffed" to have some proper guardsmen serving in his retinue. The ex-scribe's correction that none of them had actually ever been in the Guard, unless you counted a few months in an undeployed penal legion, was blithely dismissed with a quip about it being more of a state of mind. This didn't exactly encourage them, but with a bit of reassurance from both us and Alfred, the trainees accepted their sudden career change with only a reasonable amount of dubiousness.

As another person who got into 40k because of these stories and is now running a Dark Heresy game of their own, I salute you

>>84887121
Oh god fucking damnit, this is genius and I love it. Also <3 shoggy, live me some AGP, and glad you dared posting here again (and judging from the reactions all you have is fans here)

>>84887271

As for us, we were not cordially drafted into The Rupert's inquisitorial retinue, as Oak still had shit for us to do. What specifically was a bit unclear though, since neither Jim and Fumbles, or the Rupert and Alfred had talked to the Inquisitor since he'd left to "turn himself in". Needless to say, THAT remark caught our undivided attention, but the four of them insisted that it was all part of some presumably brilliant plan, which involved him showing up for his trial while the better part of three-quarters of the Inquisitorial fleet was distracted. Nubby and Twitch smirked as they collected their winnings from those of us who hadn't believed Oak was both capable and crazy enough to try and exploit a Tyranid incursion for political benefit.

Of course, bringing up the subject of the imminent Nids raised the question of what in the Emperor's name we were doing here. More specifically, we wanted to know why Jim was still flying us right into the splinter fleet's predicted emergence zone, and what that "vortex bomb" actually was, because we'd seen one before, and they typically don't have either Tau or wraithbone components. The Rupert waved these questions away as "not something to tickle your wigs over", and Jim's attention seemed fully focused on the shuttle's kludged-together nav system, but Fumbles cheerfully explained that the "bomb" was just a fancy psi-suppressor Fio put together to keep him and Alfred from exploding. The obvious question that remark raised went unasked as the vox unit blared an all-ships warning of imminent Tyranid emergence in sector seventeen. Jim shouted at everyone to get in their seats and activated the weird psi-suppressor.

>>84887271
Alright, now show the Hopitalar and Hannah.
Let's get the gang back together!
Comeback tour, boys!

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>>84887297

Image fuckups: 2

>>84887299

the only way this could be more of a crossover is if the Occurrence Border crashed itself into the swarm of 'nids

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>>84887297

Now we had a bit of experience with psi-suppressors, or at least Tink did, but we'd never encountered one that felt like this. It was like having one of those super-untouchables pressing right up against you, and both Fumbles and Alfred abruptly curled in on themselves and started shaking. For all its power though, the device still wasn't enough to keep us from feeling the horrible chittering, clawing psychic force that erupted from the jagged hole in reality forming in front of us.

Amazingly, the horrible psychic pressure actually managed to grow stronger, seemingly pressing in on the psychic shielding from all sides and compressing it into a smaller and smaller area. Then, very abruptly, and with a distinct popping sensation, the pressure vanished, leaving a stubby little junk-heap of a warp-ship floating where the glowing hole in reality had been. Jim hailed the Occurrence Border and brought us in for a landing.

Behind our shuttle, several very confused Inquisitorial warships double checked their auspex readings as another small warp-transition occurred, leaving the very pressing question of where the Tyranids were, and what in the Emperor's name had just happened to all their astropaths, navigators, and sanctioned combat-psykers.

>>84887320
how else do you create a tyranid fleet

>>84887320
Heh.

>>84887324
Time to visit the Poker room again?

>>84887320
YOU JUST HAD TO SAY IT DIDN'T YOU

>>84887320
You were saying?

The Border's kept some residue from the Daemonthrope, I see.

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>>84887324

Aboard the Occurrence Border, in what was apparently no longer the warp-fungus bay, a delegation consisting of a very relieved Sister Valerie and Hannah, backed up by their usual collection of medical and technical minions, welcomed us back. They were followed up by a considerably less welcoming delegation, consisting of an oversized servo-skull with the brain of an undeniably insane Magos Biologis wedged inside of it. The Magos, initially intent on getting an account of the recent psychic phenomena from the badly shaken Fumbles and Alfred abruptly stopped in mid air, whirled to face the Nubby-proof case full of archeotech handcuffed to Sarge's arm. The ear-numbing, distorted screech of "WHAT DID YOU IDIOTS DO?" was, well, exactly what we expected.

Sarge sighed and relinquished the case, gathered up the Rupert and Alfred, and (after establishing the definite unavailability of Doc) grabbed Aimy for moral support as he headed up to the bridge for what was going to be a very, very long debriefing.

>>84887339

oh

the occurrence border was nids the whole time

>>84887342
You didn't think Oak would send an ACTUAL Tyranid fleet, did you?
He's got the perfect substitute.

>>84887167
Unless I'm missing something 1d4chan.org is still up, you just can't find it in any search engine.

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>>84887344

And that's it. We're looking at a little lore-dump interlude, and then The Trial of Inquisitor Oak, and then that's it. It's over.

I'll pop back on tomorrow, but it's one AM here and I am old(ish).

>>84887344
Hot Damn, I actually caught back up.
I was following along but had to run out right around tink throwing the pistol into sour face's face.
can't believe you're still going at this. You're a legend my man.

>>84887351
Does that mean Nubby and Twitch give the rest of the party their money back?

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>>84887379
Get some sleep, Shogster.
You earned it. Probably a drink, too.

>>84887379
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
im sad to see it end, but itll probably be another 2 years

>>84887379
gn Shoggy, awesome shit and glad you finally got the rest of this one out there!

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>>84887383
>Nubby
>give money back

>>84887379
That was great, your quality hasn't dipped at all.

>>84887379

hell. yes.

get some rest shoggy, looking forward to your dramatic conclusion (whenever it comes)

>>84887379
You sick son of a bitch. Leaving us hanging like that.

>>84887387

The beer I got was 3.2%, so I've been drinking all night to no real effect, aside from gas.

>>84887379
You big damn hero, get some rest, you earned it!

>>84882054
Damn you for being late and thank you for coming.

Holy shit i laughed so much my allergies were cured. Also why oh Emperor why couldnt Nubby just leave it alone once

>>84887197
Practically all my exposure to 40k has been from /tg/. I know fuck all about it otherwise, and to be honest I'm just fine with that.

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Editor here.
I did not quite believe how chaotic it was getting all this stuff posted with proper images.
We were also making changes right up before posting them- I would read them off for Shoggy to make sure the thoughts flowed and the sentences made sense.

Worth it to finally see it posted!

Get some sleep, everybody.

>>84887449

don't need to tell me twice mr editor

>>84887379
This continues to be amazing, thank you for sharing

After all this time, have there been any 'fudged' rolls in order to keep things going without killing a PC?

>>84887479
Well, I won't reveal too much of what goes on behind the curtain, but I will say that as things went on, the rules got more homebrewed in the name of fun.

Shoggy will be on tomorrow to answer questions better than I can!

>>84887379
I hope you enjoy your sleep. I've really enjoyed this wild ride and It's feels a little unreal to see it finally come to a close.

>>84887496
The fun is the most important part.

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>>84882712

>>84883512
For whatever reason I am reading the commandant's lines in the voice of commandant Klink.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2UnB-9tIZAo

>>84884779
Good god,anon, how did you manage to top the creepyness of an instant orgasm suggestion?!

>>84882054
YEEEEEEESSSSSSSSS

>>84883611
>top 5 favorite NPCs
Ol' Bill, Valerie, Jim, old Adept lady, commissar?
Though Rupert, Alfred, Hannah, old Adept dude(who certainly does not look like a lady), and the Apothecary would also be damn good contenders.

That's a tough list to make.
>Disguise-guy from the Tau worlds would also be an honorable mention. He was fuckin' rad, too.
>Fio, if only because only pulse rifles ur shooty biznus, boss.
>Weebu, because he's somehow a more helpful inquisitor than your own.
>Magos Smith, considering you, seem to love his endless fount of insanity.

>>84884677
no, dumbass, she was covered in gore and vitae. blood is a liquid that is under a lot of pressure, and when there's a massive rupture in a high-pressure hydrolic system, the leakage tends to range from fountain to geyser

>>84885661
you will never ever own land or a propper dwelling. you will forever be damned to rent-hell. this is the curse of our generation and the next and the next after and endlessly after.
Welcome to the Distopian Future. there is no multi-hued neon-lit city-scapes, only Brutalist Architecture and bright white industrial lighting. You will not wake up. you are not a samurai and the city is already burning and you are in permanent lock-down and your oxygen consumption threshold has been exceeded and your dwelling's life-support systems have been shutdown and disabled. additionally, due to this, your financial assets have been frozen and confiscated as per Lawful decree of The World Economic Forum.

>>84887022
>Fourth in this line, per guard-issue pecking order, was Nubby, who brought up the question of where to shove "dis techy fing dat won fit back in its box"
*LAUGHS IN HYSTERICAL DESPAIR*

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>>84887379
Eight years in the making, and totally fucking worth it

this thread sucks
cringe

>>84889726
Fuck off

>>84889726
There's always one cunt