G
Grothnor
Guest
Original poster
Segmentum: Obscurus
Sector: Calixis
Sub-Sector: The Pereiphery
Location: Universe Class Mass Conveyor Salvation of Pergamon, Subdeck 13
Status: In Warp Transit, En route to Nox System
ETA: 6-8 Weeks
“ATTENTION!” The sound of hundreds of feet stepping to attention was ragged and disjointed, betraying the considerable lack of discipline they had. “That was the weakest, most piss-poor call to attention I have ever heard. Everyone, ten deck-thrusts, now!”
A faint chorus of groans and grunts could be heard across the deck as the men and women performed their punitive exercise. The battle-scarred driller pulled the unlit cigar from his mouth, “Now that that's done with, let's try again. ATTENTION!” The action was more uniform this time, but not enough to please their driller, who shook his head dismissively. “And you sorry sacks of filth want to be guardsmen....”
“Not me,” a voice replied, prompting a ripple of laughter through the RIP Detail members.
The driller roared, “Who said that?”
A low growl from behind the driller answered him. “Seventh row, thirteenth column.” The room hushed instantly as a commissar stepped forward into view of the five-hundred members of RIP detail. His augmentic eye whirred and clicked as is scanned the rest of the RIPs.
The driller moved through the ranks and sized up the RIP who dared speak out of line. “Think you're funny, do ya?” With a sudden movement, he swung his shock maul into the man's groin, then his chin as the guardsman fell to his knees. Mercifully the weapon was unpowered, but the guardsman writhed in pain nonetheless. None of the others dared move to help him, not with the commissar in the room.
“Listen up! I am Driller Vansie, and for the next six weeks my duty, as ordained by the God Emperor himself, is to turn you wastes of skin into proper men and women of the Imperial Guard. My first lesson is to disabuse you scum-stains of the idea that this is a vacation or a respite. Anyone who fails to pass RIP will receive the same treatment as this joker here...” He punctuated the statement by activating his shock maul and shoving it into the groaning guardsman's exposed belly. The guardsman screamed for a good ten seconds until Vansie stopped shocking him. “...from yours truly. And then I'll hand them over to our good friend Commissar Jesk over there, for summary execution. And since I am the one who decides whether you living shits pass or not, you will do as I say. TWENTY DECK-THRUSTS!” The assembled RIPs dropped to the deck almost immediately and performed the calisthenics.
Eight hours of grueling physical exercise later, the troops were dismissed to their bunks, save for a dozen or so RIPs who had stood out and caught attention of Driller Vansie for one reason or another. They were tasked with rolling up and putting away the heavy exercise mats away before they were allowed to be dismissed. The Driller and Commissar had left, leaving the handful of RIPs to themselves.
Felk had never been more tired in his life. He had had some busy days working on the polygum plantation, but this topped them all by a klick-and-a-half. When the Driller asked him what he was in for, Retraining, Indoctrination or Punishment, he answered honestly and was 'rewarded' with this task. He was annoyed and confused with why he had to do this when he answered honestly, but grateful to not have been punished with a beating like that first RIP with the joke. Most of the people who had caught Vansie's eye ended up getting hit with his power maul, always unpowered though. Grunting through his exhaustion, Felk tried starting a conversation with the other RIPs. “So,” he started lamely, struggling to come up with something to say through his haze of exhaustion. His mind settled on the question the Driller asked him, “What are you guys here for?”
Sector: Calixis
Sub-Sector: The Pereiphery
Location: Universe Class Mass Conveyor Salvation of Pergamon, Subdeck 13
Status: In Warp Transit, En route to Nox System
ETA: 6-8 Weeks
“ATTENTION!” The sound of hundreds of feet stepping to attention was ragged and disjointed, betraying the considerable lack of discipline they had. “That was the weakest, most piss-poor call to attention I have ever heard. Everyone, ten deck-thrusts, now!”
A faint chorus of groans and grunts could be heard across the deck as the men and women performed their punitive exercise. The battle-scarred driller pulled the unlit cigar from his mouth, “Now that that's done with, let's try again. ATTENTION!” The action was more uniform this time, but not enough to please their driller, who shook his head dismissively. “And you sorry sacks of filth want to be guardsmen....”
“Not me,” a voice replied, prompting a ripple of laughter through the RIP Detail members.
The driller roared, “Who said that?”
A low growl from behind the driller answered him. “Seventh row, thirteenth column.” The room hushed instantly as a commissar stepped forward into view of the five-hundred members of RIP detail. His augmentic eye whirred and clicked as is scanned the rest of the RIPs.
The driller moved through the ranks and sized up the RIP who dared speak out of line. “Think you're funny, do ya?” With a sudden movement, he swung his shock maul into the man's groin, then his chin as the guardsman fell to his knees. Mercifully the weapon was unpowered, but the guardsman writhed in pain nonetheless. None of the others dared move to help him, not with the commissar in the room.
“Listen up! I am Driller Vansie, and for the next six weeks my duty, as ordained by the God Emperor himself, is to turn you wastes of skin into proper men and women of the Imperial Guard. My first lesson is to disabuse you scum-stains of the idea that this is a vacation or a respite. Anyone who fails to pass RIP will receive the same treatment as this joker here...” He punctuated the statement by activating his shock maul and shoving it into the groaning guardsman's exposed belly. The guardsman screamed for a good ten seconds until Vansie stopped shocking him. “...from yours truly. And then I'll hand them over to our good friend Commissar Jesk over there, for summary execution. And since I am the one who decides whether you living shits pass or not, you will do as I say. TWENTY DECK-THRUSTS!” The assembled RIPs dropped to the deck almost immediately and performed the calisthenics.
Eight hours of grueling physical exercise later, the troops were dismissed to their bunks, save for a dozen or so RIPs who had stood out and caught attention of Driller Vansie for one reason or another. They were tasked with rolling up and putting away the heavy exercise mats away before they were allowed to be dismissed. The Driller and Commissar had left, leaving the handful of RIPs to themselves.
Felk had never been more tired in his life. He had had some busy days working on the polygum plantation, but this topped them all by a klick-and-a-half. When the Driller asked him what he was in for, Retraining, Indoctrination or Punishment, he answered honestly and was 'rewarded' with this task. He was annoyed and confused with why he had to do this when he answered honestly, but grateful to not have been punished with a beating like that first RIP with the joke. Most of the people who had caught Vansie's eye ended up getting hit with his power maul, always unpowered though. Grunting through his exhaustion, Felk tried starting a conversation with the other RIPs. “So,” he started lamely, struggling to come up with something to say through his haze of exhaustion. His mind settled on the question the Driller asked him, “What are you guys here for?”