The guardsman sighed, hefting his lasgun as the cold commissar turned and lead their two man team. The day was turning into a real shitshow, and he and the commissar looked to be walking into a meat grinder. Somehow, he didn't feel disillusioned following her, likely because she had proven she wasn't a stranger to a firefight at least. Still, if it was he and another guardsman they could vote on matters or agree on what worked best for the both of them. As it stood his best chance of doing that was sneaking off or shooting her in the back, but he knew the former was unlikely and the latter would never happen. Connors was a lot of things, but he wasn't a traitor. In the parking deck, the odd ground car was parked. He briefly wondered if they should commandeer one, but that would likely give them too much undue attention unless they had a clear way back to the capital. Maybe they could make for the mountains and take the long way round, but he hadn't exactly packed any survival gear.

The two passed the vast deck and halted at the archway leading out. A toll booth and a broken sign on a swivel were the only signs anyone had been through the last few days. A large street surrounded by huge buildings at least 20 stories high lay before them, but as far as they knew it was all quiet. Quickly the two half crouched, half ran across the street into another parking deck, the building above used by the Departmento Munitorum. Not exactly defensible in a seige, but a good place to hold up and hide if the Commissar felt it necessary. 

"It's weird fighting in civilization." He thought outloud as he followed her, glancing behind him to make sure no one pursued.  "On Lorn, we had to face the Orks and the heretics in abandoned factories and snow covered complexes. I'm just not used to killing on long-standing Imperial soil." 

It made him feel less a soldier and more of a murderer, he realized. Even if the rebels would kill him in a heartbeat were they to get the better of him, they were just disabused Imperial citizens. He knew it in his mind, but he had to shake that notion. On Lorn he had seen heretical flagellants; men with skin peeled and iron hooks and rods embedded in their skin. All of them had once been normal Imperial citizens, before they let corruption taint them. What separated them from these rebels, who had forsaken the Imperium of Man?

He reached behind his back, unbuttoning his sheath and pulling out his combat knife. A bevel and a screwed in area to set the knife onto his lasgun was fit on neatly not a second later. He didn't know why, but putting the bayonet on made him feel a bit more secure. 
"Is this your first command? ...Ma'am?" 
[@Penny]