Gate stood mutely as the beast of a man that was Sergeant Mason addressed them. He didn't take in much of what he was saying. He feared and respected soldiers, as you might fear and respect a dangerous animal. They were violent, simple and so often committed to an ideology of shoot-first-ask-questions-later. But he didn't care much for their wisdom or speeches. What use was their wisdom to him? They were committed to a life of service and battle. Anyone who had thought that to be a good life choice clearly didn't have good sense in the first place.

Armed and ready in two hours though. [i]That[/i] he did hear. Probably a formal assembly and briefing prior to departing Redemption. He returned to his bunk and made sure his things were in good order. He picked up the lascarbine and familiarised himself with it as best he could. It was lighter than an autogun. It was essentially an autogun with less moving parts and more certainty of killing whoever you pointed it at. What was there to know? It was designed to be easy enough for a child to use. He put it to one side and kicked his feet up on his bunk. He pulled out his Uplifting Primer to kill some time. It was going to be dull, but at least he could look forward to a few weeks of rest and relaxation for sure.

[hr]

Those bastards. Those filthy, mad, scav-whore bastards. It was moments like this that reminded him how, at his core, he bitterly hated everything about the Imperium. He was happy on Taranis. He was invisible, and free, and was good at his job. It was the Imperium that had ruined it. They had imprisoned him. Then they had given him death gift-wrapped as freedom. And now they had forgone the gift-wrapping altogether. They had laid bare the cruel truth of their sick, dishonest endeavour. What was the point? Why didn't they just shoot him the moment he left the womb?

A nauseating rush of adrenaline made his despairing mind go blank. Hot, nervous fire rushed through his limbs and into his heart. He was rendered an animal, only seeing and acting, driven by his basest instincts. Gate was no stranger to fighting. He had killed men in his time in the Enforcer cadres and seen his fair share of shootouts. But he had been in control then; a well armed lawman with other well armed lawmen watching his back, against scared and desperate hive scum. This was different; here he was the scum, a trapped rat with no friends and vastly outgunned.

The soldier Tigranes that he had spoken with earlier was telling the squad to move. His dislike of the man was drowned out. In that moment, the man was the pack leader, and you followed the pack leader. The roaring chaos of the room was nothing. Gate's world was keeping his head down, and staying close behind Tigranes.

When they reached the building, Tigranes stopped suddenly, and Gate threw himself to the side to avoid hitting him. He rolled and laid prone, and his senses returned to him. He still had hold of his lascarbine. At some point he had been splattered with blood. Not his own. He looked up at the bloodied sight of Octavia crouching next to Tigranes. The air was very hot, and the sound of las-crack was deafening, which mercifully took the edge off the sound of screaming. He crawled over to where Tigranes and Octavia were taking cover and pressed himself up against the wall, his breath heaving.