[@Wraithblade6][@Necroes][@BCTheEntity][@DepressedSoviet][@Hank][@Bright_Ops] Flies love corpses, any worshipper of Nurgle could tell you that...and the drifting, thruster-absent construct of twisted metal that was designated as [i]Ill Fated[/i] by Imperial observers was as much of a bloated corpse as one could expect to find in the middle of windless space. From the observation deck of Outpost 3-12/19 Commodore Harker peered into the vast distance between his own command and the Hulk, the extensively high-powered observation scope allowing even his eyes – weakened by age as they were – to make out both the corpses and the flies that buzzed around it with immaculate clarity. “So, what do we have so far?” He muttered to the nearest Deck Officer, a gangly creature of a man wearing the rank insignia of a Chief Petty Officer, “what can you tell me about our first [i]guests[/i]?” A sibilant hiss of air accompanied his final word, pressed with some force from between his thin lips, his eyes never moving from the eyepiece of the observation scope. “Well...there is a licensed Trader vessel – the [i]Rigged Fortune[/i] under a certain 'Nykerio' – as well as what appears to be a former Astartes Thunderhawk, Iron Hands Chapter.” The man paused and took another long stare at his screen, clarifying what he was seeing, “there is also a pair of unregistered and unidentifiable vessels, including what looks to be a ten-man warp-capable ship and...” yes, he was looking at [i]something[/i], but what was it, “another vessel that seems to have simply flung itself from a warp rift not too far from the hulks prow.” “Any responses to our call for assistance?” Asked the older man through gritted teeth, annoyance clear in his voice, for he wished to be out there and investigating in person and not stuck here merely observing! “Some responses sir, yes. Any aid will take some time to reach us though, I'm afraid.” “Blast.” [hr] Half an hour later and most, if not all, of the vessels that had been moving about the outwardly lifeless melange of ships had found some way to either dock – or more likely hammer into the side of – the [i]Fated[/i], perhaps delivering cargoes of warriors or maybe just impacting into a crumbled heap on the wrecks outer skin... Not too far away, but far enough that even the Outpost could not see them, a small crevice – a fissure in the material of real space – opened to allow the disgorging of a number of space-faring vessels. From this distance it was hard to tell from where or whom they hailed, but it was obvious to anyone that they were on an intercept course with the hulk and those ships gaining entry to it. They were moving fast, and with purpose. [hr] Somewhere in the rancid bowels of the hulk a figure moved, eyes flickering beneath closed lids, the comatose form certainly of Astartes proportions and the armour it was clad in – although coated in a thick layer of dust and refuse – could only be the protective ceramite shell of one of the Imperiums protectors. It was in a sudden burst of energy that the slumped transhuman lurched forward with a digitalised cry, keeling over with a fall that shook the metallic deck beneath its feet, the eye slits on the helmet slowly but surely beginning to glow a hellish red.