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It stopped. Everything stopped. The torture, the mocking. His captors seemingly disappeared the moment the words 'do your worst' had left the mouth of the Guardsman. Steiner kept his guard up for several minutes. He listened intently, trying to make out some...ambient sound. But he could not. All the sergeant heard was the rugged sound of his own ragged breathing, and the muttered ambiance of the ship's dull, constant hum. Once it was clear the interrogator had no intention of speaking up again or applying more of that horrific cold inducement drug, Franklin dropped his guard- partially. He allowed himself to simply breathe, and take stock of the situation. He'd been captured, presumably, by members of Chaos. They had yet to mention their god by name, so Steiner's assumption was that he was dealing with Chaos Undivided. The same force that the Despoiler- the Great Enemy of Cadia- belonged to.
At least Steiner was starting to piece together information on his captors. More like educated guesswork, at this point; the longer Frank was imprisoned here, the more solidified his theories would become. It was odd that they hadn't been more upfront about their allegiances. Most cultists jumped at the chance to infect Guardsmen with the heretical teachings of their putrid daemon gods. Was Steiner dealing with a special breed? Or was there something else going on that he hadn't quite placed? 'Not that it really matters.' He thought with a grimace. 'I'm fucked, no matter who these guys are.'
Lost deep within his thoughts, Steiner hadn't noticed time withering away around him. He had plenty to think about. Plenty of regrets to consider, and horrific nightmares to relieve while he sat in the cold, listening to his own chest rising and falling in the darkness. It wasn't until a great force impacted against his abdomen that Steiner was wrenched back into reality; if one could call this hell real. A strike from a baton nearly broke his ribs. A fist cracked against his nose, drawing blood. They beat him. Steiner could do nothing but grind his teeth together and hold back an agonized scream as he was turned to a bloody pulp. Frank couldn't fight back. He couldn't move to defend himself from the raining blows. All he could do was tuck his chin against his chest with all of his remaining strength, and wait until it ended. It did, in short order, when electricity was sent cascading through his squat, muscular form. Not even a Cadian Shock Trooper could withstand such forces, and Steiner lost consciousness- assuming he would never wake up again.
But somehow, regrettably, he did. Steiner eventually awoke, his head swimming from the blunt force trauma it had endured. Steiner could taste the rust-like presence of blood in his mouth. He could feel it running down from his nose; it was harder to breathe than ever. It took a great deal of effort just to suck air into his lungs. Now his feet were on the floor. He'd been forced into a squat. Frank moved, the clinking and rustling of chains telling him all he needed to know. There was no getting out of his position. Perhaps if he was ten years younger and unharmed, Franklin could pull some acrobatic, gymnast shit and get his arms out from behind him. But there wasn't any way to get out with the chains firmly anchored to the floor.
When the panic faded, Steiner once more went back to listening. He could hear more out in the darkness. Breathing that was not his own. The interrogator had been utterly silent, so Frank knew this was a new presence- or a new tactic, depending on how cynical he was feeling at the moment. The medical sergeant tried to single out the number of individual patterns of breathing he could hear. Three...maybe four, others? Five? It was difficult to differentiate from some of them. Steiner could tell there were more than two, however, which led him to believe the situation had changed rather drastically. His captors must've figured they couldn't break him the old way, so they were trying something different. He waited until he heard voices. Someone calling out if any of them were awake. 'More prisoners?' He wondered, skeptically. Steiner chose to remain silent, continuing to simply observe. This could very well be a trick. An attempt to get him to open up to those he perceived as fellow 'prisoners.'
Or, Frank could genuinely be in cell with others like him. Other crew of the voidship that had survive the encounter and been taken captive. Another voice came. More high pitched. A woman, maybe. She sounded as distressed as the first man to cry out. 'Decent acting if they're cultists, gotta admit.' Steiner wasn't fully convinced yet. He continued to wait and listen. Another voice. A man, this one angry, demanded to know what was going on. Frank swore he recognized the accent from somewhere, but he couldn't quite place it. He'd worked with someone that sounded like that at least once before. 'Is that...A Catachan?' It had to be. What he was doing on that ship, he didn't know. But no one else in the galaxy sounded like that, as far as the medic was aware. Catachans didn't fall to Chaos, did they? Those from that ugly death world were legendary for their fortitude. 'Gotta be another prisoner. It's gotta be.' He tossed out the idea that it was a simple trick of the mind. Frank needed...some hope here. He'd go mad within days otherwise. So, taking a leap of faith, Steiner decided to speak up as well.
"My best guess? Our voidship was attacked, maybe by Chaos cultists. Tied me to some chair and tried to get me to talk. Wanted to know who I was and where we were going." Steiner gave the rest of the prisoners a rundown. If that's really what they were. "Didn't tell 'em a damn thing, though."
At least Steiner was starting to piece together information on his captors. More like educated guesswork, at this point; the longer Frank was imprisoned here, the more solidified his theories would become. It was odd that they hadn't been more upfront about their allegiances. Most cultists jumped at the chance to infect Guardsmen with the heretical teachings of their putrid daemon gods. Was Steiner dealing with a special breed? Or was there something else going on that he hadn't quite placed? 'Not that it really matters.' He thought with a grimace. 'I'm fucked, no matter who these guys are.'
Lost deep within his thoughts, Steiner hadn't noticed time withering away around him. He had plenty to think about. Plenty of regrets to consider, and horrific nightmares to relieve while he sat in the cold, listening to his own chest rising and falling in the darkness. It wasn't until a great force impacted against his abdomen that Steiner was wrenched back into reality; if one could call this hell real. A strike from a baton nearly broke his ribs. A fist cracked against his nose, drawing blood. They beat him. Steiner could do nothing but grind his teeth together and hold back an agonized scream as he was turned to a bloody pulp. Frank couldn't fight back. He couldn't move to defend himself from the raining blows. All he could do was tuck his chin against his chest with all of his remaining strength, and wait until it ended. It did, in short order, when electricity was sent cascading through his squat, muscular form. Not even a Cadian Shock Trooper could withstand such forces, and Steiner lost consciousness- assuming he would never wake up again.
But somehow, regrettably, he did. Steiner eventually awoke, his head swimming from the blunt force trauma it had endured. Steiner could taste the rust-like presence of blood in his mouth. He could feel it running down from his nose; it was harder to breathe than ever. It took a great deal of effort just to suck air into his lungs. Now his feet were on the floor. He'd been forced into a squat. Frank moved, the clinking and rustling of chains telling him all he needed to know. There was no getting out of his position. Perhaps if he was ten years younger and unharmed, Franklin could pull some acrobatic, gymnast shit and get his arms out from behind him. But there wasn't any way to get out with the chains firmly anchored to the floor.
When the panic faded, Steiner once more went back to listening. He could hear more out in the darkness. Breathing that was not his own. The interrogator had been utterly silent, so Frank knew this was a new presence- or a new tactic, depending on how cynical he was feeling at the moment. The medical sergeant tried to single out the number of individual patterns of breathing he could hear. Three...maybe four, others? Five? It was difficult to differentiate from some of them. Steiner could tell there were more than two, however, which led him to believe the situation had changed rather drastically. His captors must've figured they couldn't break him the old way, so they were trying something different. He waited until he heard voices. Someone calling out if any of them were awake. 'More prisoners?' He wondered, skeptically. Steiner chose to remain silent, continuing to simply observe. This could very well be a trick. An attempt to get him to open up to those he perceived as fellow 'prisoners.'
Or, Frank could genuinely be in cell with others like him. Other crew of the voidship that had survive the encounter and been taken captive. Another voice came. More high pitched. A woman, maybe. She sounded as distressed as the first man to cry out. 'Decent acting if they're cultists, gotta admit.' Steiner wasn't fully convinced yet. He continued to wait and listen. Another voice. A man, this one angry, demanded to know what was going on. Frank swore he recognized the accent from somewhere, but he couldn't quite place it. He'd worked with someone that sounded like that at least once before. 'Is that...A Catachan?' It had to be. What he was doing on that ship, he didn't know. But no one else in the galaxy sounded like that, as far as the medic was aware. Catachans didn't fall to Chaos, did they? Those from that ugly death world were legendary for their fortitude. 'Gotta be another prisoner. It's gotta be.' He tossed out the idea that it was a simple trick of the mind. Frank needed...some hope here. He'd go mad within days otherwise. So, taking a leap of faith, Steiner decided to speak up as well.
"My best guess? Our voidship was attacked, maybe by Chaos cultists. Tied me to some chair and tried to get me to talk. Wanted to know who I was and where we were going." Steiner gave the rest of the prisoners a rundown. If that's really what they were. "Didn't tell 'em a damn thing, though."
It stopped. Everything stopped. The torture, the mocking. His captors seemingly disappeared the moment the words 'do your worst' had left the mouth of the Guardsman. Steiner kept his guard up for several minutes. He listened intently, trying to make out some...ambient sound. But he could not. All the sergeant heard was the rugged sound of his own ragged breathing, and the muttered ambiance of the ship's dull, constant hum. Once it was clear the interrogator had no intention of speaking up again or applying more of that horrific cold inducement drug, Franklin dropped his guard- partially. He allowed himself to simply breathe, and take stock of the situation. He'd been captured, presumably, by members of Chaos. They had yet to mention their god by name, so Steiner's assumption was that he was dealing with Chaos Undivided. The same force that the Despoiler- the Great Enemy of Cadia- belonged to.
At least Steiner was starting to piece together information on his captors. More like educated guesswork, at this point; the longer Frank was imprisoned here, the more solidified his theories would become. It was odd that they hadn't been more upfront about their allegiances. Most cultists jumped at the chance to infect Guardsmen with the heretical teachings of their putrid daemon gods. Was Steiner dealing with a special breed? Or was there something else going on that he hadn't quite placed? 'Not that it really matters.' He thought with a grimace. 'I'm fucked, no matter who these guys are.'
Lost deep within his thoughts, Steiner hadn't noticed time withering away around him. He had plenty to think about. Plenty of regrets to consider, and horrific nightmares to relieve while he sat in the cold, listening to his own chest rising and falling in the darkness. It wasn't until a great force impacted against his abdomen that Steiner was wrenched back into reality; if one could call this hell real. A strike from a baton nearly broke his ribs. A fist cracked against his nose, drawing blood. They beat him. Steiner could do nothing but grind his teeth together and hold back an agonized scream as he was turned to a bloody pulp. Frank couldn't fight back. He couldn't move to defend himself from the raining blows. All he could do was tuck his chin against his chest with all of his remaining strength, and wait until it ended. It did, in short order, when electricity was sent cascading through his squat, muscular form. Not even a Cadian Shock Trooper could withstand such forces, and Steiner lost consciousness- assuming he would never wake up again.
But somehow, regrettably, he did. Steiner eventually awoke, his head swimming from the blunt force trauma it had endured. Steiner could taste the rust-like presence of blood in his mouth. He could feel it running down from his nose; it was harder to breathe than ever. It took a great deal of effort just to suck air into his lungs. Now his feet were on the floor. He'd been forced into a squat. Frank moved, the clinking and rustling of chains telling him all he needed to know. There was no getting out of his position. Perhaps if he was ten years younger and unharmed, Franklin could pull some acrobatic, gymnast shit and get his arms out from behind him. But there wasn't any way to get out with the chains firmly anchored to the floor.
When the panic faded, Steiner once more went back to listening. He could hear more out in the darkness. Breathing that was not his own. The interrogator had been utterly silent, so Frank knew this was a new presence- or a new tactic, depending on how cynical he was feeling at the moment. The medical sergeant tried to single out the number of individual patterns of breathing he could hear. Three...maybe four, others? Five? It was difficult to differentiate from some of them. Steiner could tell there were more than two, however, which led him to believe the situation had changed rather drastically. His captors must've figured they couldn't break him the old way, so they were trying something different. He waited until he heard voices. Someone calling out if any of them were awake. 'More prisoners?' He wondered, skeptically. Steiner chose to remain silent, continuing to simply observe. This could very well be a trick. An attempt to get him to open up to those he perceived as fellow 'prisoners.'
Or, Frank could genuinely be in cell with others like him. Other crew of the voidship that had survive the encounter and been taken captive. Another voice came. More high pitched. A woman, maybe. She sounded as distressed as the first man to cry out. 'Decent acting if they're cultists, gotta admit.' Steiner wasn't fully convinced yet. He continued to wait and listen. Another voice. A man, this one angry, demanded to know what was going on. Frank swore he recognized the accent from somewhere, but he couldn't quite place it. He'd worked with someone that sounded like that at least once before. 'Is that...A Catachan?' It had to be. What he was doing on that ship, he didn't know. But no one else in the galaxy sounded like that, as far as the medic was aware. Catachans didn't fall to Chaos, did they? Those from that ugly death world were legendary for their fortitude. 'Gotta be another prisoner. It's gotta be.' He tossed out the idea that it was a simple trick of the mind. Frank needed...some hope here. He'd go mad within days otherwise. So, taking a leap of faith, Steiner decided to speak up as well.
"My best guess? Our voidship was attacked, maybe by Chaos cultists. Tied me to some chair and tried to get me to talk. Wanted to know who I was and where we were going." Steiner gave the rest of the prisoners a rundown. If that's really what they were. "Didn't tell 'em a damn thing, though."
At least Steiner was starting to piece together information on his captors. More like educated guesswork, at this point; the longer Frank was imprisoned here, the more solidified his theories would become. It was odd that they hadn't been more upfront about their allegiances. Most cultists jumped at the chance to infect Guardsmen with the heretical teachings of their putrid daemon gods. Was Steiner dealing with a special breed? Or was there something else going on that he hadn't quite placed? 'Not that it really matters.' He thought with a grimace. 'I'm fucked, no matter who these guys are.'
Lost deep within his thoughts, Steiner hadn't noticed time withering away around him. He had plenty to think about. Plenty of regrets to consider, and horrific nightmares to relieve while he sat in the cold, listening to his own chest rising and falling in the darkness. It wasn't until a great force impacted against his abdomen that Steiner was wrenched back into reality; if one could call this hell real. A strike from a baton nearly broke his ribs. A fist cracked against his nose, drawing blood. They beat him. Steiner could do nothing but grind his teeth together and hold back an agonized scream as he was turned to a bloody pulp. Frank couldn't fight back. He couldn't move to defend himself from the raining blows. All he could do was tuck his chin against his chest with all of his remaining strength, and wait until it ended. It did, in short order, when electricity was sent cascading through his squat, muscular form. Not even a Cadian Shock Trooper could withstand such forces, and Steiner lost consciousness- assuming he would never wake up again.
But somehow, regrettably, he did. Steiner eventually awoke, his head swimming from the blunt force trauma it had endured. Steiner could taste the rust-like presence of blood in his mouth. He could feel it running down from his nose; it was harder to breathe than ever. It took a great deal of effort just to suck air into his lungs. Now his feet were on the floor. He'd been forced into a squat. Frank moved, the clinking and rustling of chains telling him all he needed to know. There was no getting out of his position. Perhaps if he was ten years younger and unharmed, Franklin could pull some acrobatic, gymnast shit and get his arms out from behind him. But there wasn't any way to get out with the chains firmly anchored to the floor.
When the panic faded, Steiner once more went back to listening. He could hear more out in the darkness. Breathing that was not his own. The interrogator had been utterly silent, so Frank knew this was a new presence- or a new tactic, depending on how cynical he was feeling at the moment. The medical sergeant tried to single out the number of individual patterns of breathing he could hear. Three...maybe four, others? Five? It was difficult to differentiate from some of them. Steiner could tell there were more than two, however, which led him to believe the situation had changed rather drastically. His captors must've figured they couldn't break him the old way, so they were trying something different. He waited until he heard voices. Someone calling out if any of them were awake. 'More prisoners?' He wondered, skeptically. Steiner chose to remain silent, continuing to simply observe. This could very well be a trick. An attempt to get him to open up to those he perceived as fellow 'prisoners.'
Or, Frank could genuinely be in cell with others like him. Other crew of the voidship that had survive the encounter and been taken captive. Another voice came. More high pitched. A woman, maybe. She sounded as distressed as the first man to cry out. 'Decent acting if they're cultists, gotta admit.' Steiner wasn't fully convinced yet. He continued to wait and listen. Another voice. A man, this one angry, demanded to know what was going on. Frank swore he recognized the accent from somewhere, but he couldn't quite place it. He'd worked with someone that sounded like that at least once before. 'Is that...A Catachan?' It had to be. What he was doing on that ship, he didn't know. But no one else in the galaxy sounded like that, as far as the medic was aware. Catachans didn't fall to Chaos, did they? Those from that ugly death world were legendary for their fortitude. 'Gotta be another prisoner. It's gotta be.' He tossed out the idea that it was a simple trick of the mind. Frank needed...some hope here. He'd go mad within days otherwise. So, taking a leap of faith, Steiner decided to speak up as well.
"My best guess? Our voidship was attacked, maybe by Chaos cultists. Tied me to some chair and tried to get me to talk. Wanted to know who I was and where we were going." Steiner gave the rest of the prisoners a rundown. If that's really what they were. "Didn't tell 'em a damn thing, though."
Obligatory declaration of interest goes here.
Wew lad.
@Traps I'm definitely more in it for the story aspect than the game pieces, so I'm supportive of this change.
G R A V E S
'You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me.'
Graves was just thanking Landon for the elixir, letting the concoction join the rest of the potions on his belt, when Elian decided to have an outburst. A sigh was on his lips and a grimace across his visage as he turned around, glaring eyes dancing between the near hysterical healer and the lithe tank she chose to call out. This was seriously not the time for them to drag each other through the shit. Yet as utterly irritating as the exchange was, the Blood Knight kept his mouth shut. It wasn't his place to get involved. As much as he might look like he was trying to lead them, that was a...misconception. Graves just wanted to survive. He didn't care how it had to happen. Getting out alive wasn't just his number one priority; it was his only priority. He wasn't their babysitter. If the party wanted to tear itself apart over stupid bullshit, Graves wasn't gonna try to step in and 'resolve' their issues for them. They were adults, most of them. They could handle their own shit without big, bad Graves sticking his nose into every little disagreement.
The bounty hunter impatiently tapped the end of his halberd against the stone floor, his battle worn, calloused hands changing their grip upon the polearm several times over. Graves was tired of waiting. He was tired of listening to everyone whine and complain. 'Oh, we're never gonna get back home.' They cried. 'I'm so sad and scared.' Well no shit, Sherlock, they all were. No point standing around moping all day. They were losin' daylight. If everybody wanted to stand around and cry until they were all mauled to death by the dungeon's monsters, they could be his guest; Graves was leaving, whether it was with them all or by himself.
Thankfully for Graves's sanity, Elian's bait wasn't taken by Rael. She shrugged it off and- hopefully- their healer would just let it drop. It didn't matter. Really. She had misconstrued Rael's attempt at helping as her not taking the dungeon seriously. Maybe it was because Graves thought on a similar wavelength to the other tank, but this might be the first time the bounty hunter hadn't taken El's side in awhile. 'She's just...scared.' He sighed. She had plenty of reason to be high strung, so there really was no blaming her.
"This'd be a hell of'a lot easier if I had that drink now." Graves muttered to Landon, turning his attention toward Rael as she addressed him. "For the love of God, yes. Let's get the hell outta here already. Everybody on my flank. I'm movin' now. If you wanna get left behind, be my fuckin' guest, but I'm ready to go." It felt like the millionth time Graves had to say that. They just weren't moving. Every single time Graves started forward, somebody had to go and say something- delaying their advance yet again. The bare chested tank wasn't keen on waiting any longer. Weapon firmly in hand, he started out of the room and back toward the tunnel they'd just exited. They had a lot more dungeon ahead of them, and couldn't be bothered to wait around here anymore. It was a waste of his time.
G R A V E S
'You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me.'
Graves was just thanking Landon for the elixir, letting the concoction join the rest of the potions on his belt, when Elian decided to have an outburst. A sigh was on his lips and a grimace across his visage as he turned around, glaring eyes dancing between the near hysterical healer and the lithe tank she chose to call out. This was seriously not the time for them to drag each other through the shit. Yet as utterly irritating as the exchange was, the Blood Knight kept his mouth shut. It wasn't his place to get involved. As much as he might look like he was trying to lead them, that was a...misconception. Graves just wanted to survive. He didn't care how it had to happen. Getting out alive wasn't just his number one priority; it was his only priority. He wasn't their babysitter. If the party wanted to tear itself apart over stupid bullshit, Graves wasn't gonna try to step in and 'resolve' their issues for them. They were adults, most of them. They could handle their own shit without big, bad Graves sticking his nose into every little disagreement.
The bounty hunter impatiently tapped the end of his halberd against the stone floor, his battle worn, calloused hands changing their grip upon the polearm several times over. Graves was tired of waiting. He was tired of listening to everyone whine and complain. 'Oh, we're never gonna get back home.' They cried. 'I'm so sad and scared.' Well no shit, Sherlock, they all were. No point standing around moping all day. They were losin' daylight. If everybody wanted to stand around and cry until they were all mauled to death by the dungeon's monsters, they could be his guest; Graves was leaving, whether it was with them all or by himself.
Thankfully for Graves's sanity, Elian's bait wasn't taken by Rael. She shrugged it off and- hopefully- their healer would just let it drop. It didn't matter. Really. She had misconstrued Rael's attempt at helping as her not taking the dungeon seriously. Maybe it was because Graves thought on a similar wavelength to the other tank, but this might be the first time the bounty hunter hadn't taken El's side in awhile. 'She's just...scared.' He sighed. She had plenty of reason to be high strung, so there really was no blaming her.
"This'd be a hell of'a lot easier if I had that drink now." Graves muttered to Landon, turning his attention toward Rael as she addressed him. "For the love of God, yes. Let's get the hell outta here already. Everybody on my flank. I'm movin' now. If you wanna get left behind, be my fuckin' guest, but I'm ready to go." It felt like the millionth time Graves had to say that. They just weren't moving. Every single time Graves started forward, somebody had to go and say something- delaying their advance yet again. The bare chested tank wasn't keen on waiting any longer. Weapon firmly in hand, he started out of the room and back toward the tunnel they'd just exited. They had a lot more dungeon ahead of them, and couldn't be bothered to wait around here anymore. It was a waste of his time.
'What the hell...?'
Steiner's lips fell downward from the mocking grin he'd held underneath the hood. That sound...It was laughter, of a sort. But no man could utter such a grotesque, high pitched sound. Though the chortle was surprisingly pleasant to the ear, it met with nothing but disdain from the imprisoned medical officer. A distinct, deep-seated hatred, ingrained into his heart from practically the day he was born. Franklin's scarred visage twisted into a grimace, a low, throaty growl escaping from his chapped lips.
"Chaos." He all but spat it out. The very word made his stomach churn. Every vile image of those inhuman monsters blowing apart his comrades came rushing back to the forefront of the Cadian's mind. Every las shot that melted through an old friend. Every crack of an autogun that blew their brains out the back of a soldier's skull. Steiner wouldn't forget the sight of cultists with chain weapons tearing through his lines, chewing apart flesh and spitting out clouds of red mist and gore.
So they weren't pirates. The men that beat and kidnapped him were heretics and traitors to the Imperium. Vile pieces of human garbage and refuse that did not deserve the ground they shit on. Those who turned to worshiping the daemons that destroyed once beautiful Cadia deserved nothing more than a las shot through the eye. "Scum. You're fucking scum." Steiner rasped, fury barely contained by the fact that he held no power here. He'd...never been this close to Chaos worshipers before. Not without bayonet or combat knife in hand, anyway. It was almost a surreal experience to hear that distorted, inhuman voice, as if it came from all around him.
The owner of that otherworldly voice seemed to float before Steiner, making no sound other than it's practiced speech. It spoke of the cold; as if that bothered him. Decades upon frozen world after frozen world had built up an immunity for even the harshest tundra. Fighting with little more than a cloth upon his back in the slush and snow, heated only by the occasional shot of las, was more common for Frank than breathing. His interrogator had captured his equipment already. They knew he was a medic. 'Which means they've got my tags, too. The hell are they asking for my name for, then?' It was a tactic of interrogation. Present Steiner with a seemingly ordinary series of questions, so that the later, more pressing ones come easier from his loosed lips. Frank wasn't a traitor. He was a lot of things. But he damn well knew he wasn't a traitor.
"Lemme have it, then, ya piece of fuckin' shit!" Steiner roared, the needle piercing into his system like a bayonet through the gut of a man. The medic sucked in air between his teeth. It didn't take long for the unknown substance to begin it's work. He was getting...colder. Much colder. It was as if winter itself had been transferred into his body. Frost's cruel maw wrapped around his insides, sinking it's frozen teeth deep into his form. 'What...What is this?' This was different. This wasn't...anything he had ever encountered before. It wasn't a feeling he could adequately describe. Somehow, the cold wasn't numbing him. It continued to bite and eat at his interior. Anguished, pained groans fell from the sergeant. His breathing was ragged and shaky. He dug at the restraints on his arms, bucking and fighting against them, but he made little progress.
"You've...already got.." Frank muttered, his voice shaking from the freezing cold in his veins. "My tags, right? Y-you've got my name.." Steiner wasn't deluded. He knew how this would end. Captured by the forces of Chaos, he'd be lucky to die in any kind of quick fashion. These 'men' were sadists. They would make the sergeant hurt, even if he gave them everything they wanted. There was nothing Frank could do to stop this, or even slow it down. This...this was happening. He was gonna die, and it was gonna be slow and it was gonna hurt. Nothing could change that. So why give them the satisfaction? Why endanger his comrades by giving up even an ounce of information? It wasn't worth it. "I got enough brains to know...that you don't have anything on me." Steiner's rasped laugh held even greater contempt than the last time, though his strength was rapidly fading in the cold. "I'm dyin' either way. But if I can go down spittin' in the face of your 'gods?' Then that's enough...for me. So go ahead. Do your God damn worst. I can...I can take it."
Steiner's lips fell downward from the mocking grin he'd held underneath the hood. That sound...It was laughter, of a sort. But no man could utter such a grotesque, high pitched sound. Though the chortle was surprisingly pleasant to the ear, it met with nothing but disdain from the imprisoned medical officer. A distinct, deep-seated hatred, ingrained into his heart from practically the day he was born. Franklin's scarred visage twisted into a grimace, a low, throaty growl escaping from his chapped lips.
"Chaos." He all but spat it out. The very word made his stomach churn. Every vile image of those inhuman monsters blowing apart his comrades came rushing back to the forefront of the Cadian's mind. Every las shot that melted through an old friend. Every crack of an autogun that blew their brains out the back of a soldier's skull. Steiner wouldn't forget the sight of cultists with chain weapons tearing through his lines, chewing apart flesh and spitting out clouds of red mist and gore.
So they weren't pirates. The men that beat and kidnapped him were heretics and traitors to the Imperium. Vile pieces of human garbage and refuse that did not deserve the ground they shit on. Those who turned to worshiping the daemons that destroyed once beautiful Cadia deserved nothing more than a las shot through the eye. "Scum. You're fucking scum." Steiner rasped, fury barely contained by the fact that he held no power here. He'd...never been this close to Chaos worshipers before. Not without bayonet or combat knife in hand, anyway. It was almost a surreal experience to hear that distorted, inhuman voice, as if it came from all around him.
The owner of that otherworldly voice seemed to float before Steiner, making no sound other than it's practiced speech. It spoke of the cold; as if that bothered him. Decades upon frozen world after frozen world had built up an immunity for even the harshest tundra. Fighting with little more than a cloth upon his back in the slush and snow, heated only by the occasional shot of las, was more common for Frank than breathing. His interrogator had captured his equipment already. They knew he was a medic. 'Which means they've got my tags, too. The hell are they asking for my name for, then?' It was a tactic of interrogation. Present Steiner with a seemingly ordinary series of questions, so that the later, more pressing ones come easier from his loosed lips. Frank wasn't a traitor. He was a lot of things. But he damn well knew he wasn't a traitor.
"Lemme have it, then, ya piece of fuckin' shit!" Steiner roared, the needle piercing into his system like a bayonet through the gut of a man. The medic sucked in air between his teeth. It didn't take long for the unknown substance to begin it's work. He was getting...colder. Much colder. It was as if winter itself had been transferred into his body. Frost's cruel maw wrapped around his insides, sinking it's frozen teeth deep into his form. 'What...What is this?' This was different. This wasn't...anything he had ever encountered before. It wasn't a feeling he could adequately describe. Somehow, the cold wasn't numbing him. It continued to bite and eat at his interior. Anguished, pained groans fell from the sergeant. His breathing was ragged and shaky. He dug at the restraints on his arms, bucking and fighting against them, but he made little progress.
"You've...already got.." Frank muttered, his voice shaking from the freezing cold in his veins. "My tags, right? Y-you've got my name.." Steiner wasn't deluded. He knew how this would end. Captured by the forces of Chaos, he'd be lucky to die in any kind of quick fashion. These 'men' were sadists. They would make the sergeant hurt, even if he gave them everything they wanted. There was nothing Frank could do to stop this, or even slow it down. This...this was happening. He was gonna die, and it was gonna be slow and it was gonna hurt. Nothing could change that. So why give them the satisfaction? Why endanger his comrades by giving up even an ounce of information? It wasn't worth it. "I got enough brains to know...that you don't have anything on me." Steiner's rasped laugh held even greater contempt than the last time, though his strength was rapidly fading in the cold. "I'm dyin' either way. But if I can go down spittin' in the face of your 'gods?' Then that's enough...for me. So go ahead. Do your God damn worst. I can...I can take it."
'What the hell...?'
Steiner's lips fell downward from the mocking grin he'd held underneath the hood. That sound...It was laughter, of a sort. But no man could utter such a grotesque, high pitched sound. Though the chortle was surprisingly pleasant to the ear, it met with nothing but disdain from the imprisoned medical officer. A distinct, deep-seated hatred, ingrained into his heart from practically the day he was born. Franklin's scarred visage twisted into a grimace, a low, throaty growl escaping from his chapped lips.
"Chaos." He all but spat it out. The very word made his stomach churn. Every vile image of those inhuman monsters blowing apart his comrades came rushing back to the forefront of the Cadian's mind. Every las shot that melted through an old friend. Every crack of an autogun that blew their brains out the back of a soldier's skull. Steiner wouldn't forget the sight of cultists with chain weapons tearing through his lines, chewing apart flesh and spitting out clouds of red mist and gore.
So they weren't pirates. The men that beat and kidnapped him were heretics and traitors to the Imperium. Vile pieces of human garbage and refuse that did not deserve the ground they shit on. Those who turned to worshiping the daemons that destroyed once beautiful Cadia deserved nothing more than a las shot through the eye. "Scum. You're fucking scum." Steiner rasped, fury barely contained by the fact that he held no power here. He'd...never been this close to Chaos worshipers before. Not without bayonet or combat knife in hand, anyway. It was almost a surreal experience to hear that distorted, inhuman voice, as if it came from all around him.
The owner of that otherworldly voice seemed to float before Steiner, making no sound other than it's practiced speech. It spoke of the cold; as if that bothered him. Decades upon frozen world after frozen world had built up an immunity for even the harshest tundra. Fighting with little more than a cloth upon his back in the slush and snow, heated only by the occasional shot of las, was more common for Frank than breathing. His interrogator had captured his equipment already. They knew he was a medic. 'Which means they've got my tags, too. The hell are they asking for my name for, then?' It was a tactic of interrogation. Present Steiner with a seemingly ordinary series of questions, so that the later, more pressing ones come easier from his loosed lips. Frank wasn't a traitor. He was a lot of things. But he damn well knew he wasn't a traitor.
"Lemme have it, then, ya piece of fuckin' shit!" Steiner roared, the needle piercing into his system like a bayonet through the gut of a man. The medic sucked in air between his teeth. It didn't take long for the unknown substance to begin it's work. He was getting...colder. Much colder. It was as if winter itself had been transferred into his body. Frost's cruel maw wrapped around his insides, sinking it's frozen teeth deep into his form. 'What...What is this?' This was different. This wasn't...anything he had ever encountered before. It wasn't a feeling he could adequately describe. Somehow, the cold wasn't numbing him. It continued to bite and eat at his interior. Anguished, pained groans fell from the sergeant. His breathing was ragged and shaky. He dug at the restraints on his arms, bucking and fighting against them, but he made little progress.
"You've...already got.." Frank muttered, his voice shaking from the freezing cold in his veins. "My tags, right? Y-you've got my name.." Steiner wasn't deluded. He knew how this would end. Captured by the forces of Chaos, he'd be lucky to die in any kind of quick fashion. These 'men' were sadists. They would make the sergeant hurt, even if he gave them everything they wanted. There was nothing Frank could do to stop this, or even slow it down. This...this was happening. He was gonna die, and it was gonna be slow and it was gonna hurt. Nothing could change that. So why give them the satisfaction? Why endanger his comrades by giving up even an ounce of information? It wasn't worth it. "I got enough brains to know...that you don't have anything on me." Steiner's rasped laugh held even greater contempt than the last time, though his strength was rapidly fading in the cold. "I'm dyin' either way. But if I can go down spittin' in the face of your 'gods?' Then that's enough...for me. So go ahead. Do your God damn worst. I can...I can take it."
Steiner's lips fell downward from the mocking grin he'd held underneath the hood. That sound...It was laughter, of a sort. But no man could utter such a grotesque, high pitched sound. Though the chortle was surprisingly pleasant to the ear, it met with nothing but disdain from the imprisoned medical officer. A distinct, deep-seated hatred, ingrained into his heart from practically the day he was born. Franklin's scarred visage twisted into a grimace, a low, throaty growl escaping from his chapped lips.
"Chaos." He all but spat it out. The very word made his stomach churn. Every vile image of those inhuman monsters blowing apart his comrades came rushing back to the forefront of the Cadian's mind. Every las shot that melted through an old friend. Every crack of an autogun that blew their brains out the back of a soldier's skull. Steiner wouldn't forget the sight of cultists with chain weapons tearing through his lines, chewing apart flesh and spitting out clouds of red mist and gore.
So they weren't pirates. The men that beat and kidnapped him were heretics and traitors to the Imperium. Vile pieces of human garbage and refuse that did not deserve the ground they shit on. Those who turned to worshiping the daemons that destroyed once beautiful Cadia deserved nothing more than a las shot through the eye. "Scum. You're fucking scum." Steiner rasped, fury barely contained by the fact that he held no power here. He'd...never been this close to Chaos worshipers before. Not without bayonet or combat knife in hand, anyway. It was almost a surreal experience to hear that distorted, inhuman voice, as if it came from all around him.
The owner of that otherworldly voice seemed to float before Steiner, making no sound other than it's practiced speech. It spoke of the cold; as if that bothered him. Decades upon frozen world after frozen world had built up an immunity for even the harshest tundra. Fighting with little more than a cloth upon his back in the slush and snow, heated only by the occasional shot of las, was more common for Frank than breathing. His interrogator had captured his equipment already. They knew he was a medic. 'Which means they've got my tags, too. The hell are they asking for my name for, then?' It was a tactic of interrogation. Present Steiner with a seemingly ordinary series of questions, so that the later, more pressing ones come easier from his loosed lips. Frank wasn't a traitor. He was a lot of things. But he damn well knew he wasn't a traitor.
"Lemme have it, then, ya piece of fuckin' shit!" Steiner roared, the needle piercing into his system like a bayonet through the gut of a man. The medic sucked in air between his teeth. It didn't take long for the unknown substance to begin it's work. He was getting...colder. Much colder. It was as if winter itself had been transferred into his body. Frost's cruel maw wrapped around his insides, sinking it's frozen teeth deep into his form. 'What...What is this?' This was different. This wasn't...anything he had ever encountered before. It wasn't a feeling he could adequately describe. Somehow, the cold wasn't numbing him. It continued to bite and eat at his interior. Anguished, pained groans fell from the sergeant. His breathing was ragged and shaky. He dug at the restraints on his arms, bucking and fighting against them, but he made little progress.
"You've...already got.." Frank muttered, his voice shaking from the freezing cold in his veins. "My tags, right? Y-you've got my name.." Steiner wasn't deluded. He knew how this would end. Captured by the forces of Chaos, he'd be lucky to die in any kind of quick fashion. These 'men' were sadists. They would make the sergeant hurt, even if he gave them everything they wanted. There was nothing Frank could do to stop this, or even slow it down. This...this was happening. He was gonna die, and it was gonna be slow and it was gonna hurt. Nothing could change that. So why give them the satisfaction? Why endanger his comrades by giving up even an ounce of information? It wasn't worth it. "I got enough brains to know...that you don't have anything on me." Steiner's rasped laugh held even greater contempt than the last time, though his strength was rapidly fading in the cold. "I'm dyin' either way. But if I can go down spittin' in the face of your 'gods?' Then that's enough...for me. So go ahead. Do your God damn worst. I can...I can take it."
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