Dust filtered through the air, catching the artificial light emitted by the bulbs embedded into the shabby metal walls. Faded paint - flakes of gold, blue, red, a host of colors - clung yet to the walls, a vestige of the small sanctuary's once proud nature. Now the temple wallowed in corruption. The Ministorum priest sat at the top of the small dais, scribbling notes into a small leather-bound book with a fury. Behind him, several men muttered quietly among drifting smoke. Two leaned against opposite walls, scarred men home to cold, dead eyes and enhanced muscle. On their hips sat autopistols and combat knifes. At the table sat three men, two of normal build with one shorter than the others. The short one wore a tattered coat of red, patches covering various areas where the material had torn. Lanky hair and broken teeth framed leering eyes, constantly darting around the building. An unassuming man, yet a malevolent aura surrounded him.

The other two wore masks of black, voices scrambled by vox equipment. Identically clothed, it was impossible to discern who they were. A thump coming from outside the temple's door halted their conversation momentarily, glancing back to the entrance. After no sounds came for several seconds, the trio resumed speaking furtively. A second thump drew the concerns of one of the guards, hand slipping up towards the firearm he carried. Stepping slowly towards the door, he stopped as the right door tremulously opened, filling the air with a groan of age.

In scampered a small boy, malnourished and frightened, quivering as his eyes locked on the autopistol. Grunting, the guard drew the weapon and swung his arm up towards the figure. The left door burst open, wood splinters streaking through the air. One cut below the man's eye yet he did not flinch. Turning his pistol towards the opening in tandem with the other guard, the pair waited as their eyes adjusted to the dim outside. With enhanced hearing one would have been able to make out the soft whirring of servo-motors, yet none in the room had such heightened senses.

Through the swirling clouds of dust advanced a power armor-clad figure, standing taller than most humans, even in this far future. Too one who had only heard stories, the figure would have appeared akin to one of the fabled Astartes, demi-god warriors responsible for the safety of the Imperium alongside the Imperial Guard. Aiding this fact was the helmet which the figure wore, obscuring their face. Yet to one knowledgeable in such manners, this was certainly not an Astartes. Too short and thin by far, the iconography and trappings of the armor did not match that utilized by any of the Astartes chapters. Squinting, the Ministorum priest on the dais gasped.

"Ministorum markings..." Scrambling from his seated position, he trundled between the pews of the temple, waving his arms to ward off the thugs. "Don't shoot, don't shoot! This is-" His voice cut off as a metal hand grasped his shoulder. Shifting his gaze upwards to the visor of the helmet, the man suddenly shuddered.

"Are you the priest in charge of this holy temple?" queried the power-armored figure in a semi-synthesized voice, tightening its grip slightly.

"I am," the priest swallowed. "For what reason am I blessed-"

"You presume to much. You have sinned, priest, and the God-Emperor does not tolerate sin. Explain to me why I see those men in the shadows."

A crack resounded in the temple and the priest slumped, sliding towards the floor. A hole showed in the back of his robes and blood slowly began to stain the cloth. Lowering the crumpling man to the floor in a gentle manner, bullets began to ping off armor, laser dissipating as the heat was absorbed by ceramite. Straightening, the figure drew the hand flamer and stalked forward. Curses filled the air as the guards continued shooting, the three dealers gathering their position. The small man skittered to the back door and was met by a gout of white-hot flame, lighting him on fire, skin sloughing from the extreme heat. Panels on the back wall had also caught the fire and now the flickering light began to spread in an inoxerable advance, threatening to consume the entirety of the temple if left unchecked.

A sweep with the hand weapon engulfed a majority of the back in flames, spreading to the four figures who began to scream in fear. The figure stood there passively, watching the men burn alive.

"The sin is cleansed," came the voice once again. Returning to where the priest lay on the floor coughing out blood, his eyes feverishly locked onto her helmet. Gauntleted hands reached up and unclasped the helmet, a soft sighing escaping as the armor seal was broken. Lifting up the piece of armor, underneath was a woman's face, stern, hard, scarred by countless battles, yet a tenderness showed. A rattle sounded in the priest's throat before a globule of blood sprang forth, spattering all nearby. With that, he died. Reaching out to close the priest's eyes, the woman kneeled and recited a small prayer over the dead holy man, honoring him despite the wrongs he had committed.

Rising, the woman turned her gaze upon the quivering waif. "Come, child," she softly called, offering a dust-covered hand towards the boy. Hesitantly, he stood, glancing at her and the doorway. Slight steps took him to her and he reached his right hand up into hers. Nodding, she took one last glance at the burning temple before exiting the door.

Outside, a soul could scance be seen. Although the time could justify the lack of people, it was a bit too empty. A station such as Outpost 57 always had vagrants and those of less repute wandering through the cramped corridors of the hive, dealing in death, illicit materials, and people. The pervasive hush weighed down heavily. Something was not right.

She asked the boy, "Can you lead me to the upper levels? It is important that I reach that area as quickly as possible."

Nodding, the waif began to pad off, followed by the shadow of the Sister.