Hot. The burning heat of the underbelly, this Black Ship, it choked him, yet all the same, caressed him with its warmth. He laid upon the bunk, eyes wide, the idle settling of the grated floor and the dull hum of the dim red lighting serenading him, casting shadows on the wall which danced as the lighting pulsed. The bunks, stretched endlessly in each direction, housed stormtroopers, all nearly identical, heads shaved to the scalp in buzzcuts, their dull red jumpsuits hugging their bodies as they all lay the same fashion, rigid even in sleep.

But Nathanael could not sleep. It was near, the time to depart upon him. It was only a matter of minutes until the crackle of the intercom would call him to board the shuttle to Arden VII. He'd not heard of it, the barren grey rock, which he told was his new post, to report to one Interrogator Elek. He had not questioned it, following to the letter his route of transport, some sort of robotic impulse to drive him forward. And on the journey, it had been again the mundane routine of each other post. He had awakened, eaten, reported to his superiors, and undertaken constant physical upkeep and attending to roles of patrolling from one hall to the next, a constant circle of meaningless duties.

It mulled in his brain, but he had known why, for it always lingered that he had some higher purpose, some service to the Emperor, and so it pushed him, as it always had, from the very day he came to the Schola Progenium. The dull crackle broke his thoughts, and the hoarse voice roared, the intercom screaming some unintelligible chatter, but he knew the content without hearing, and in a robotic movement, had kicked his legs to one side, and struck the floor, trekking along the grated path between the rows of bunks still holding his comrades. The lift at the end of the corridor elevated him another deck, where his own gear had been waiting, the armory and upper barracks. His stop by the canteen found his appetite not particularly present, however he took that which was known as 'marching food', two flavorless slabs of hardtack compressing an over-seasoned tough cut of some synthetic meat, packed with calories.

He found his way to the armory, and distributed his service number, his gear being dispersed through the chute, courtesy of the quartermaster. Deliberate, quick movements in a habit of swiftness, and his carapace armor now hugged his figure, his hellgun at the right shoulder arms, habitual, and the rest of his armaments secured tightly to his person. With the closing of his rucksack, he started to the lift again, and was brought to the hangar, where the shuttle awaited, swarming with deck crew. He clambered aboard, stowing his hellgun into the aboard racks, his rucksack into his seat's storage compartment, and was buckled. He stared forward as the shuttle rocked, completing its long taxi across the flight deck before the roar of the engines now replaced all noise, the rattle of the shuttle deck muffling any chatter within the cabin, and the shuttle now set off with a shock of g-force before it exited into the free darkness of space, banking to Arden VII.

[hr]

He had not moved beyond the slightest twitch since he had been seated, and as the shuttle now descended, only then did he stir, now retrieving his rucksack and hellgun, the latter of which he returned to the right shoulder arms. The cabin of the shuttle rocked violently as the gear touched the landing pad, the ramp slamming into the metallic floor and allowing Nathanael and a slew of miscellaneous personnel passage. However, where the other personnel dispersed to their posts, Nathanael had his orders, and banked to the lift. He greeted the attendant with a remark of the rank, before heading unto the lift, which started downwards.

And after a journey downwards, the cage stopped with a cacophony of clanging. Nathanael headed out, his robotic marching motions taking him through whatever corridors might meet him until he met the gaze of Elek and the Captain, and now marched out for review, to report to post, he halted two metres before them, and snapped to a port arms, and then a left order arms, stock of the hellgun now level with his foot, stretching the length of his left leg. His right hand snapped to a crisp salute, and he recited, "Tempestor Corporal Nathanael Cotant, service number 451093, reporting to post, my Lord."