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"Attention, traitors! I am a merciful man, so if any of you wish to surrender I will consider it!"

The next invaders charge in with their autoguns firing wildly, and the one in front catches two shotgun blasts. The second realises their precarious position and takes cover behind the pile of bodies, screaming incomprehensibly and firing in bursts at you. You emerge to take a shot just as another flunky appears around the doorway, a grenade in his hand and about to be hurled. The throw is ruined by you removing his shoulder, causing the grenade to land short in front of your cover. The explosion tears the furniture apart, but you and Garts remain largely intact due to its sacrifice.

Ears ringing and vision wavering, you rise and find the autogun-wielding invader bereft of cover as well, stunned and injured by the shockwave. Both of you fire at the same time, but due to the disorientation every shot goes astray. After a few such volleys, you finally manage to crater his chest and end his wild spraying. As you stumble to your feet, the next wave of heretics appear in the doorway.

The appearance of more well-equipped enemies could easily spell your end, but at this point your rescuers finally arrive. They are hit from behind by fierce lasfire, the few escapees finding no refuge in your little hole. With the battle decided in your favour, the Guard squad sets up a position in the hall and searches the room. Between those caught in the hall and those gunned down in your fort, you count almost twenty bodies, a number which leaves the sergeant gaping at your martial prowess.



Health: Injured
Equipped: Shotgun
Spare: Hotshot Laspistol, Chainsword, 1 Frag, 1 Krak

As soon as fragments stop impaling the plasterboard, you're up and throwing a cooked frag grenade at the doorway. None too soon, a pack of filthy crew are bursting in, waving pistols and generally acting aggressively. Stub rounds fly without a care, with one actually hitting you in the chest, but you shrug off the impact.

The grenade lands in their midst, detonating in a lethally perfect manner. The four closest to the explosion are torn apart, while two others are protected by the bodies of their comrades and merely tossed about. Raising your trusty shotgun, you blast them away before they can raise themselves off the floor.

The next mob of malcontents burst in without any more tactical sense than the last, simply charging in without any consideration. A couple have autopistols instead, but the high rate of fire is offset by the poor lighting and general confusion. As you methodically cut them down with shotgun blasts, some lucky rounds work through your flak armour. The pain is nothing you can't handle, but they're bound to get lucky again eventually.

The last one left points his stub pistol at you in an uncertain manner, and seems to ask, "Err, for Chaos?" before you remove a good part of his torso. With the room clear for now, you quickly reload and check your surroundings. Your cover is still mostly intact, partially due to solid furniture construction but also thanks to your attacker's inability to hit anything. Korvin Garts is still alive and untouched, but has fallen unconscious. He's covered with a light layer of dust and woodchips.

It's reasonable to assume more enemies are coming, but for the moment you're in the clear.

Health: Lightly Injured
Equipped: Shotgun
Spare: Hotshot Laspistol, Chainsword, 1 Frag, 1 Krak

At the sight of the suspected grenade, you grab Garts and hurl him back into the room before leaping in yourself. A concussive blast almost knocks you down, with fragments of red-hot metal nipping at the hem of your coat as you escape. You shove Garts out of the way and slam the door, which you now note is made of thick wood and not metal. Must be an antique.

A cabinet is hastily braced against it, and you pull the near-catatonic Garts over to the other side of the room where you flip a table over for cover. You just manage to drag him behind it before another detonation turns the door to splinters, lethal fragments gouging the table and nicking the top of your hat.

Korvin Garts remains where he stands, looking about fearfully. He brings up an industrial torch, while you clip a compact model to your laspistol. Worryingly little of the environment can be fully lit, though.

A quick vox conversation with the Colonel later, you know that the disruption has affected many on-critical systems across the ship, though the details are confused and passed on piecemeal from the command deck. Nothing life-preserving has been disabled, at least.

You then vox the nearest platoon (or what you think is nearest) and order a squad to rendezvous with you. Before you can make a concrete decision on where to go next, the dull silence of the stricken ship is broken by the startlingly close rattle of something bouncing down the hall. In the dim light you can just make out a small canister impacting off the wall from around a corner, skipping and rolling across the deck towards you.

"You didn't answer my question. WHO is your boss? Whose orders were you following?" you snap impatiently, slightly on edge from the Colonel's news.

He gives you a confused look. "Crewboss Cal handles my assignments, I've been under him for years. Sometimes another boss does it if he can't supervise, but he's been around all week. I think?" He pauses in thought as if dredging his memory, "Yes, I'm sure all my jobs were from him. He's not in trouble is he? Not the kind of person you can spend time around, but he's good at what he does, you know?"

You change course slightly to avoid your office, ordering the guardsmen to hold position and secure the suspect until you can take care of it personally. Till then, you steer Garts into a disused generic room, firmly pushing him down into a seat.

"So, Rating-Technician. Did you do some maintenance on aeration vents recently?"

Korvin Garts looks distinctly ill at ease, his brow furrowing as if working through a headache.

"One particular job, in the Guard barracks. It was unusual 'cos I'd been there just before on a regular inspection and everything was fine. I filled out the records properly, I followed all the rituals... I thought it was a bit naff but orders are orders, you know? I figured it was just dirt... Guardsmen complaining, but even just thinking about that place gives me a headache"  He emphasises his point by mashing his palm against his forehead, "Maybe it was the air-conditioning?"

You meet his gaze and shift your stance, placing your hand on the hilt of your chainsword.

"Is that insubordination, Rating-Technician? I'll arrange things with your superior, but the matter at hand is quite important. Important enough that you may loose your post or your life..."

There is a long silence as you stare him down, the nearby crew watching and waiting for something interesting to develop. The tension is relieved when he breaks and slumps in defeat.

"Alright... alright, I'll go with you, Commissar," he says through gritted teeth, throwing his crowbar to one of his buddies. They all immediately pretend that nothing interesting or potentially traitorous was witnessed, and resume fiddling with their own equipment.

It appears to be a standard Imperial Space Crowbar, used in Space by people who pry things open.