All things considered, exile wasn't that bad. Physically at least, mentally and spiritually it was another story. Sure the air here was hot and stale but it certainly beats the poisonous wastelands of Armageddon. The food was not that great either but battlefield rations were worse. The shame was the worst part of this whole experience by far. Guilt weighed down Octavia Westerlund's soul. She had been a faithful servant of the Emperor and His holy Imperium her whole adult life and yet she had ended up here. Why? She was spared death which must mean her life's duty was yet to be completed. He-Who-Watches-From-Holy-Terra must still have plans for the veteran guardswoman. She knew that. You can't change fate and her fate was in the Emperor's hands, no point in brooding over it. Yet she still was haunted by the past few months. At night she saw her former comrade's faces, crushed by rubble or scorched by the blast. It made sleeping difficult, impossible at times. Her only solace came from the thought of redemption. It was the one thought that kept her driving forward on this miserable rock. She had faith, faith that the Emperor wouldn't have her die on this rock. She had survived much worse.

 Octavia looked around the canteen. To her right there was a bearded man who looked like he had served in the Imperium. Perhaps he had been a guardsman like her? People who served the Emperor always had a certain look in their eyes, it was unmistakable. Further still to the right there was a clearly disturbed inmate who was gesturing wildly and cackling like a madman. Hearing his laugh made her scars itch. She swirled her spoon in the gruel and rubbed her hand over one of the many scars on the right side of her face. It was an idle habit she had developed recently. Octavia spooned some nutri-paste into her mouth and looked at the guards up on the walkways. Half of them probably hadn't seen real action- Something caught her eye and broke her train of thought. A Captain of the Guard, it had to be. No one else would have a power weapon, save for maybe the Warden. 

Octavia eyed him with curiosity and a little bit of hope, hope that he was going to raise a penal legion and give her a second chance. She swallowed another spoonful of paste and watched him look over the room. There were others with the Captain, no doubt aides or representatives from the colony. The ex-guardswoman searched the mess hall for the reactions of the other prisoners. Some seemed indifferent, resigned to their fate. Others frantically waved and jeered. To get his attention? To mock him? She couldn't say, the other prisoners were a bit of a mystery to her. Socialising wasn't exactly a strong point for her, even if she could still speak. The only meaningful interaction she had with another prisoner was beating her cellmate for thinking she was an easy mark for rape. No one had bothered her since. 

She blinked out of her reflection and peered around the room again, at the mass of nearly identically dressed inmates. Flicking her eyes back to the Captain, Octavia wondered if they were to become comrades-in-arms. Could she handle it?