Ben turned to see the Squat enter, a fellow veteran of Armageddon, but not one he had ever seen on the battlefield. Fate had kept them apart. He only knew of him vaguely, and had never actually sat down to talk to him. Some veterans like to talk about where they had been, and Ben did not. He did not know for sure, but it was better to be safe, he figured. He accepted the inquisitors apology with a nod, and when the briefing was done, he excused himself to change. He reached under his chair, and put on his power fist. 

With his shredded glove covered, he walked to his room, and took off his great coat, and donned an under arm holster for his plasma pistol. The black service pants, and his brown knee high boots wouldn't detract from his appearance as a body guard as he left them. He took off his helmet and left it, along with his rebreather and goggles, leaving his scarred and augmented face visible to the world. Oh well, facial scars weren't uncommon in their line of work. Ben put on a leather jacket, and a new leather glove for his bionic hand, and got ready to leave. He kneeled down and reached under his bed, pulling out a sword, wrapped in cloth. He removed the cloth, revealing a 3 foot long machete, a gift from a catachan unit who he had served with during a stint in the equatorial jungles. He unsheathed it, it was a Devil's Claw, and even Ork's respected the power of the weapon. He strapped the weapon on his back, it wasn't entirely uncommon for bounty hunters and body guards to display some weapons, and the weapon was absolutely vicious in close combat, and completely silent, unlike power weapons with their humsor chainswords with their screams.  

Ready to go, Ben started to make his way out of the room, and stopped at one of the only decorations in the room, a photo of him and his platoon, the day before they set out. He looked at it, and felt a great pain in his chest. He had mourned them all, and had no time to do it again now. Benjamin Duren headed towards wherever the Warband was meeting to depart.