[quote=@Amaranth]
 
[/quote]


Tigranes would've liked to continue his talk with Gate, there was still some things he would've liked to say. But as much as he would've liked to continue on his, admittedly self-righteous, tirade, that Phrike fellow was right. They were expendable and right now it would probably be simpler in the Arbitres' eyes to kill anyone raising too much of a ruckus. Even if he, hopefully, proved himself a loyal and dependable servant of Him on Terra, Tigranes would still be nothing more than a very expendable pawn. Not that he wasn't that before in Redemption or serving in the Haykan Royal Army. Hells, if one were to look back enough he wasn't exactly worth much during his days digging tunnels before the civil war. But then again, Tigranes was never one prone to much self-reflection or resenting his lot in life, (past few months notwithstanding), he was born a bonded serf and if not for the civil war he would've died a bonded serf like his forefathers before him and the sons he would have if not for the war.

Now however, he was a soldier. Had been one for the past eight years (his stint in the Penal Colony excluded). The difference was that now he was directly serving the God Emperor to atone for the sins of his past. So he decided to act like one and extend his hand to Phrike and let his little argument with Gate slide. 

Then Sergeant Mason popped out of the shadows and derailed everything. Truth be told the moment the Catachan spoke up, Tigranes reached for his knife. Given his current circumstances, the Legionnaire had more than enough reason to be jumping at shadows. The revelation that the bandana-wearing mass of muscles and scars would be their immediate commanding officer...well it didn't brought him relief exactly...but he was hopeful that the Jungle Fighter would be able to lead the squad better than a trigger-happy Abitrator. At least this Mason looked to have far more first-hand combat experience, that by itself would hopefully prove to be valuable for the Eighth Squad.

With introductions done, their new Sergeant left and Tigranes returned to his corner of the hold, plopping himself upon the mattress and pulling out his gear from his locker. He was never one to fell asleep fast, and when he did he was a light sleeper. With just two hours until whatever was supposed to be their first task as Legionnaires, Tigranes decided that his time would be better spent checking his gear and making sure everything was in order, or as much as it could be. Judging by his armor's sorry state, the flak vest by itself had seen more combat than him. The less said about the uniform the better. Though at least the Lascarbine at least looked to be working as intended as Tigranes did his usual thorough inspection of the weapon and prayed to its machine-spirits.

The two hours went by excruciatingly slow for Tigranes, and by the time Sergeant Mason and Arbitrator Kelm showed up, Tigranes had to stop himself from running at them in his eagerness to know just what they were supposed to do. And as the two led the squad through yet more cramped, badly lit corridors, the Legionnaire couldn't help but feel a growing uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. Sure, by the looks of it they would most likely end up in some kind of training exercise (being all geared up and such) but even if it were the case, Tigranes doubted the training exercises in a Penal Legion would be anything like he had experienced before.

As it turned out, he was right. No crawling through barbed wire, running laps or firing drills. His new commanding officers apparently preferred a much more intense way of testing the skill of their new troops. A small part of him would later surface and wonder about the morality of killing his fellow Legionnaires. Sure, they were the scum of the Imperium, but so was Tigranes. Didn't they deserve the same chance to earn redemption as him? By the time this reasoning finally dawned upon him, in some date of the unknown future, it would be something akin to a flashing thought, barely understood and soon forgotten, for Tigranes was very much a simple man, not prone to getting lost in thought or great philosophical musings, Emperor above, he wasn't even literate...

As the klaxons blared however, any future or present thoughts went ignored or forgotten as instincts took over and he dove behind the blackened husk of a car with a shout of "Take cover!", placing himself prone as he fired at whatever exposed targets he could spot. Shooting down a few, either dead or wounded, and sending others scrambling for cover as several other members of the Eighth joined him in his spot, those who in the lack of any better options decided to stick with the closest squadmate with some military experience.

Not much time had passed since the start of the exercise, and as adrenaline rushed through his veins, Tigranes looked for Octavia. A Guard veteran like her would surely be a good bet to stick with in this situation. Now if only he could find her...

And there she was, waving frantically from the door of a bunker. Tigranes nodded to nobody in particular, Octavia knew what she was doing.  

"Comrades!" He called out to the other Legionnaires around him as he gestured towards Octavia. "We have to get to that building! When I give the sign, run as fast as you can and keep your head down!"

Without waiting for a response, Tigranes peeked out from cover, firing one last spray of lasfire to keep the enemy with their heads down before taking off with a shout of "Follow me!" to his fellow squadmates.

The former miner ran as fast as his legs could carry, head held low and gun gripped tight in his hand. He could hear shots passing nearby but didn't dare to stop and look. Neither for the enemy nor to see if any of the other convicts had actually followed him.

Tigranes only stopped when he was inside the building, barely managing to avoid running into Octavia. He looked to the former Guardswoman, as he leaned on a stone wall, panting, waiting for some kind of command or instruction from the veteran before he looked through the other door and saw the approaching enemy. Firing wildly to suppress the other squad as he moved into position near the opposite door.



[@Jbcool]: Have we got grenades yet?