Antony in Warhammer 40K - Chpt 4 [English - US]
Antony in Warhammer 40K [English - US]
Description:
Antony in Warhammer 40K is a small fanfic series, created by Antony Bindilatti with inspiration from some crossovers of several film series, series and games with Warhammer 40K – created by Rick Priestley and Andy Chambers from Games Workshop.
The story focuses on young Antony – the protagonist of Antony's Triviality; on just another ordinary day, until he finds a dimensional portal with energies that are strange to his world. However, something caught his attention to the point of investigating the other side. To the hero's surprise, he embarks on a journey to a completely different universe, in which Earth was a planet full of several megacities and rudimentary technology, at the same time advanced for its era; and human civilization – known as the Imperium of Men; followed an austere religious military doctrine that despised everything that was not part of the Imperium, such as aliens, mutants and heretics, declaring total war on these beings.
And to complete the unpleasant surprise, Antony discovers that his powers and abilities have disappeared, in which he needs to fight not only for survival but also to find a way to return to his universe and cut the connection with that world.
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Chapter 4
Everything looked normal at the work camp. Antony and the workers separated more Imperium-origin parts from the rest, only to see them carried by the Mechanicus Servitors with their mechanical arms to the Chimera. The piles of vehicle and ship parts and wreckage shrank in size and proportion, even though it would take months or even years for the work camp to cease being a scrapyard.
Once again, those vehicles left the site, loaded with parts for their destination. Antony and the others returned to work, still in the gray afternoon.
////
As dusk approached, the guardsmen patrolling the work camp headed to the center of the site. They pulled a whistle from their vests, summoning all the workers. Antony heard their call through the whistle and stopped what he was doing.
“Attention, all of you!” called one of the Imperium guardsmen. “Let's return to camp.”
“Leave the parts and your tools at the site. Tomorrow, we will return to this work camp to pick up where you left off,” the other guardsman added.
Finally, at least the Imperium guardsmen knew how to respect the rest times of their workers under their protection. For Antony, it was a relief. Even if he had to sleep in that cold, isolated hospital room, it was better than spending hours carrying heavy parts, straining his hands, arms, legs, and back.
Hearing the guards' words, the hero from Earth dropped his things and walked over to where the others were gathering. He smiled faintly. However, something nearly made him fall onto the rocky ground, covered in dust and dirt. One of the workers walked past, bumping into the boy's right side. A blow to the arm nearly knocked him off course.
Antony felt offended by this, stopping for a moment. The worker with shaved hair and eyebrows, wearing a white T-shirt with dark stains, gray pants made of a material resembling plastic, and metal boots, gave him a sinister look as he turned to him.
What caught the boy's attention was the tattoo on the bald man's left arm. It was a sort of steer-wheel or eight-pointed star, with only the bottom three visible to the boy, while the others were covered by the sleeve of his shirt. Instead of calling out to him and asking him to apologize, Antony remained standing there staring at him. The guard next to him called the young man over, and the shaved-headed man walked on without a care in the world.
“You there! Keep moving!” the Imperium guardsman called, pushing him with his hand on the back.
Antony felt the force exerted on him to make him move. He didn't like it. He looked at it with some disdain, but hidden it as he stared straight ahead. He walked until he joined the other workers.
With everyone gathered, the guardsmen ordered the group to march to camp. They had no backup vehicles to get them to safety. Instead, they had to walk a long way. Some were tired, with a few falling to the ground from exhaustion. Antony could see those people in that state. And to top it all off, the guardsmen escorting the group walked without a care for those who fell. They simply left them to their own devices, faced with the following dilemma: Either get up and continue walking to camp, or stay behind and die at the hands of the Orks or whoever might be lurking in the middle of the desert.
Antony continued on, keeping his gaze forward, but with that scene fixed in his mind: of some people who no longer had the strength to continue walking, being left behind by the soldiers of the Imperium. The same ones who claimed to protect them in exchange for their service to the aforementioned Emperor of Mankind.
////
Night fell on Dallos IV. Antony lay in the hospital bed where he had been taken by the Sisters of Battle. He remembered his conversation with Geran about his past, Antony's arrival in this cruel universe, and the Imperium of Man. But what made him uneasy was the man with the shaved head and eyebrows, especially the tattoo on his arm. What exactly it symbolized was unknown to him. Antony remembered the Fleur-de-lis on the Sororitas' uniforms and the double-headed eagle on the uniforms and weapons of the Imperium Guardsmen, known to them as the Aquila. But not that star or ship's wheel with arrowheads.
In the end, Antony went back to sleep in that cold, hard, uncomfortable bed. He thought a lot about home, his family, his friends, his teachers, and the people he loved most. Especially about a girl who had died at a young age so long ago.
“Suh…” thought Antony as he remembered her face.
It was Suelen, a girl he knew in school, who at the time had a twin sister, Sabrina. However, Suelen died in a car accident at the age of 18. The obituary was passed on to the young man, which had a profound impact on his life.
Even though he tried to keep this matter private from others, Antony's mind and emotions were probed by the Chaos Gods, and they could use his weaknesses as a means to influence him to turn to their dark cause.
////
While the boy slept in the hospital, Geran lay on a makeshift bed made by the guardsmen at the camp. To protect him from the cold and darkness, the bed was covered with canvas, creating a sort of tent. Besides him, other people slept on similar beds.
As the elderly man rested, a figure appeared at the entrance to the tent. It slipped past the guards undetected. The figure was heading toward Geran, approaching the sleeping man, extending a dark hand toward his back.
Geran felt a hand land on that area of his body, shaking him out of sleep. The man's eyes slowly opened. Turning to see, it was Björn.
“Björn? What are you doing at this hour?” Geran asked, yawning as he woke up.
“Geran, I need to talk to you.”
Geran got out of bed. He was wearing the same clothes he'd worn when he left for work. “Is there no way we can do that tomorrow?”
“I'm sorry Geran, but it's imperative that it be now and outside the camp.”
Hearing that, the gray-haired man sighed. “I'm on my way,” he replied as he got out of bed.
////
Minutes later, the two headed to a distant region. The night remained dark, making it inhospitable for them to travel alone, especially with the Orks nearby.
Geran and Björn continued on to a spot where they saw a light on the black horizon. A red light. To most people in Antony's world, it seemed like a distress signal or something similar. But to the men within the Imperium, this might give them a somewhat negative impression of what it might be.
“Let's go, Geran. We're almost there.”
Geran eyed the place his colleague had called to speak with some suspicion. He walked with Björn toward the red light. The sounds of prayers and thunderous songs echoed from there. The man had a terrible feeling that it was a place built for worship. Not for the Emperor of Mankind, but for the Chaos Gods. And his colleague willingly turned himself in to them.
Arriving nearby, the negative premonition was confirmed. There was an altar dedicated to Khorne, the Blood God. On it were blood stains from the last sacrifices made. Most of them were human sacrifices. Most of the people there were workers from that scrapyard who carried out the morning and afternoon shifts, with few coming from other work camps. Some painted parts of their bodies with the blood of their dead; others laughed, danced, or performed sinister rites to appease the Blood God. One of them was forcibly taken to a small altar, screaming in terror as one of the practitioners arrived with a dagger in his hand.
“No! Please! I'm too young to die!” screamed the man, his wrists and legs bound in the restraints and chains.
The cultist approached, his blade aimed at the boy's sternum, exposed by the others for a sacrificial ritual. Then, the red-hooded man with a spiked collar around his neck rested both hands on the hilt of the blade.
“Blood for the Blood God!” The man spoke his words, quickly thrusting the dagger into the boy's chest.
The blade pierced through his heart with force and speed, causing his eyes to widen in terror and spit blood. He heard the sound of flesh and bone being violently torn apart by that cruel being. And with the hole open, he inserted his bare hand, grasping the still-beating heart and removing it, veins and arteries still intact.
“Yes! Yes!” the Khorne cultist said, smiling as he lifted the boy's vital organ. “See how warm and alive it pulses in my hand!”
That made Geran's stomach turn. Björn approached his colleague after speaking with one of the Chaos cultists.
“Björn, tell me. Is this what you called me for?!” He asked, indignant by all of this.
“Geran, I called you here to talk,” the man with the golden beard said, stretching his arms out to the sides. “And there's no better place than here, out of the Imperium's hearing.”
“You know the risks if they catch us here, performing these… these immoral cults for the Imperium's enemies. They'll condemn us as heretics and traitors!”
Björn laughed at his colleague's comment. “Geran, you know very well how much we suffered at the hands of the Emperor. From his lies.”
Geran looked to the side, showing fear that his colleague and acquaintance had changed allegiance and sides.
“You said to yourself you wanted out of here. Many of us! And what did the Imperium do while we gave our sweat and blood to do their work? Nothing! And what did the guardsmen do when one of our own died of exhaustion after days of hard work? Nothing! Here, we are forgotten. Here is our tomb. Their ship that would come to fetch us to return to Holy Terra? Lies. They select the most gifted for the Black Ships, wasting our potential here, on this wretched planet.”
Among the men watching the ritual was the bald man who bumped into Antony on the way out. He could see the two men arguing.
“And you believe that switching our allegiance to the Dark Gods will change anything?” Geran asked.
“The Chaos Gods answered our prayers. Not the Emperor. Unlike the men of the Imperium, They are more generous and will grant our wishes,” Björn said, walking up to his colleague with a sinister smile. “They might even grant yours.”
“Alright. But what about Antony? Does he have anything to do with this?” Geran asked regarding the boy who came through the Warp Gate.
“The boy from the other Terra?” Björn asked, looking to his left. Then he smiled sinisterly. “The Chaos Gods have plans of their own for Antony. He will be the herald of their manifestation on his world, signaling the dawn of a new age. An age in which the Emperor of Mankind would not have been born and in which all would serve our true masters: Khorne, Tzeentch, Nurgle, and Slaanesh.”
Geran was startled by Björn's response. The colleague who once had a family and a promising life was now a blind devotee of the power offered by the Ruinous Powers Gods, willing to sacrifice anything for fealty to them over the Emperor.
“Perhaps he will come to serve us as a new devotee of Chaos. Just as you should,” Björn said, extending his right hand to Geran.
The blond-bearded man's words sounded like poison, corrupting anyone who heard them. The bald man watched the scene without showing any reaction in favor of Björn or Geran. However, he leaned toward the Chaos faithful men when he saw the other's response.
“Björn, I know you've been through difficult times in your life. Me as well. But listen, this is no reason to give yourself to the entities of the Warp. Especially when I hear about the 'blessings' they offer that turn people into monsters.”
Björn saw his colleague's disapproving expression regarding his stance on Chaos's more sinister “gifts” if he chose to join their dark cause. Finally, he listened to his last words, after which he lost interest in the invitation to join Chaos.
“That is why I will not accept this invitation. Even though I do not know that boy, I sense an unimaginable greatness. One that he would not give in to the temptations of Chaos.”
“So you'd rather remain an indoctrinated pawn of the Imperium who only takes orders from commissioners and calls us heretics. Is that right, Geran?”
Geran didn't respond with words or body language. The distrust in his eyes was the answer Björn needed.
“Very well. I'm afraid it's come to this.”
The two men stood close to each other. With the invitation declined, Björn's hand, which had been extended toward Geran, slightly lowered, and a sharp blade emerged from his wrist. From it, the man grabbed Geran by the nape of the neck, bringing him close to his chest. His eyes widened in horror. But he wasn't surprised by Björn's “embrace.” What really made him react this way was the blade plunging forcefully into his lower abdomen, piercing Geran's entrails and intestines. Blood spurted from the wound and later from the victim's cough.
Björn leaned closer to his colleague's face, specifically his left ear. “You should have joined us, Geran,” the Chaos cultist whispered. “But don't worry. Your sacrifice will be a beautiful gift to Khorne.”
With that, the blade tore violently into Geran's right side, opening the wound wide enough to expose his bowels. As a result, Geran retreated slowly, but the severity of the wound left him in shock, staggering as he walked, losing his balance, and falling to the ground. His body groaned, writhing in hemorrhagic shock. Björn and the others watched, some laughing and celebrating yet another sacrifice to the Chaos Gods. Finally, Geran felt nothing; his body stopped writhing, and a huge pool of blood grew from the spot. The life he had was gone.
“Tonight, we celebrate another sacrifice! The blood of another lamb blinded by the Emperor's dogma will be an offering to Khorne, the Blood God. The skull will be a new addition to his magnificent throne!” Björn cried, extending his hand and the blade bathed in Geran's blood.
The other cultists shouted Khorne's name, chanting “Blood for the Blood God!” echoing loudly throughout the place, as if drums were being played and thunder was coursing through the sky.
“Blood for the Blood God!” Björn cried, followed by a crowd of fanatics and madmen for the slaughter and bloodshed of the innocent and the Imperials, shouting the same words in the middle of the cruel night of Dallos IV.
////
The next day, Antony woke up scared. He got out of bed, his face sweaty, his breathing labored, and his eyes wide open, expressing fear. Somehow, he felt the night had been cruel, even though he hadn't witnessed the deaths of Geran and some other people who had been at that site founded by Khorne cultists.
In an instant, he placed his right hand on his forehead, rubbing it due to a slight migraine.
“I feel like the sun has risen red. Blood has been spilled tonight,” said the young hero, lying on that metal object.
In that room, the guardsman who had been monitoring him entered. He wore the same Lasgun rifle, green armor, and khaki uniform. The boy's gaze turned to the Imperium soldier, gripping the edge of the blanket.
“Your presence is required in the courtyard,” the armed man informed Antony.
Hearing this, Antony nodded, responding affirmatively to the guard's call. He got out of bed, put on his boots, and walked with him to the courtyard.
////
Hours later, Antony was back in the yard. This time there were fewer people than the day before. Looking around, he could see Björn and some of the workers who had worked with him at the scrapyard, but there was no sign of Geran.
Antony was a little worried. Geran seemed like a trustworthy man after intervening when the boy was about to throw away his lunch, even though it looked strange, and after sharing a bit of his story with the boy.
The guardsmen on site called the workers to their respective work camps. One by one, each one headed toward their respective guard. Björn was the next to be called. As he passed Antony, he heard a brief call.
“Hey, Björn.”
“Antony. Now is not the time to talk,” replied the man with the blond beard.
“I know. But… have you seen Geran?”
“I don't know. Maybe he left early for work.”
Seeing the summoned man's delay, the Kasrkin Guardsman advanced on them, drawing their attention with a sort of riot-suppressing electric baton. “You two, split up! Björn, to your post, now!”
“Yes, sir,” the man with the golden beard replied, stepping away from Antony without another word. Antony felt the tip of the artifact graze his chest.
“Do that again and we'll take you to the firing squad! Got it?!”
“Yes sir,” Antony replied, keeping his gaze on that soldier, even though his eyes were covered by the mask.
“Good! Now, wait in line to be called!” concluded the Kasrkin soldier.
Antony fell back into line with the other workers. As roll call went on, Antony heard one of the guards call Geran's name.
“Geran!” called the Imperium guardsman. No response. He called him again, but the answer remained unchanged.
With nothing else to do, the guard pulled a tablet or handheld computer from his pocket to record the absence. “This one didn't respond. Let's add him to the list of those who didn't answer.”
Antony was surprised. In that moment with Björn, the brief reply was that he had gone to the labor camp earlier, despite the fact that the site was monitored daily. Finally, the young paladin heard his name being called.
“Antony. Go to row five!”
He nodded forward, heading where the guard was pointing. Everything seemed to be going well, even if his premonitions were negative. And to compound his bad feeling, the same bald guy from that time was waiting in the same line as him, but there were three people between him and Antony. Seeing the bald guy and the tattoo sent shivers down the hero's spine.
“You.” thought Antony, hiding his discomfort with the palm of his hand covering his mouth.
The man with the Ruinous Powers Star tattoo on his arm turned his head slightly, his cold eyes staring into the boy's face. Antony pretended not to see him, though he did. The man had a brief flashback to the night with Björn at the cultists' compound.
“Remember: Antony is of utmost importance to Chaos. The Gods brought him to this universe so we can corrupt him, make him join us, and exert our influence on his world. So don't kill him. Just invite Antony to join our group.” said the golden bearded cultist in that man’s memories.
“What if he resists us?” asked the bald guy in the memories.
“Antony wouldn't be able to resist our influence. His powers don't work here. If he tries to do so, you have orders to incapacitate him.”
“Yes sir. I will do what the Chaos Gods command.” replied the bald guy to Björn.
“Excellent.” thanked the blond man. Then he placed his right hand on the back of the boy's neck, bringing him close to his face, placing his lips on the boy's. “Do this for me, Khozan.”
The shaved-headed man, whose name was Khozan, was staring at Antony. His gaze conveyed a certain fear and discomfort to anyone who saw him. He intended to lure the Earth hero into joining Chaos, one way or another.
The guardsmen then ordered the workers to walk toward their respective work camps. Again, the cycle repeats.
////
Hours passed, as workers separated more parts of the Imperium's military machinery from the rest. Antony's arms were stained with oil and dirt, as well as sunburn marks, even though the sky was covered by clouds. As he placed the last part removed from an engine, his right arm rubbed his forehead, several beads of sweat dripping from his wrist and the back of his hand.
He watched the other men do the same work. Small accidents occurred in different corners of that unsanitary and dangerous place. But the most terrifying thing was that one of the men had a finger severed from his right hand after sensing a conduit from the engine fall on him, tearing it off with force. The man fell to the ground, clutching the injured limb, trying to stop the bleeding. Antony and the others witnessed the terrifying scene. The first thing he thought of was to help him, but without his powers, there was no way to heal him or ease the pain. Instead, the soldiers rushed to assist him.
The fallen worker was rescued. One of the guards injected medication into the wound, while another applied a spray containing a compound similar to Medgel.
“Take him to camp. He'll need surgery from the Mechanicus,” said one of the guards, holding the injection used on the injured worker. The other Imperial guard picked up the Vox communicator to trigger a Mechanicus transport.
Hearing this, the man was terrified. While surgeries were meant to restore lost vital parts, transplant organs, or treat some internal illness, this type of procedure was more terrifying, especially in the hands of the Servants of the Adeptus Mechanicus. The man began to struggle in horror.
“No! No, please! Not the Mechanicus! Not the Mechanicus!” the injured man screamed, refusing the cyborgs' help. The guardsmen rushed to restrain him.
Everyone watched the cruel scene, watching their colleague struggle in horror upon hearing the Mechanicus. With the exception of Antony, everyone knew that those who underwent surgery with the Mechanicus returned no longer as humans, but as beings disfigured by various cybernetic implants. Eyeless, mouthless, noseless, faceless, armsless, legsless, and bodiesless. Just masks, respirators, visors, robotic limbs, and cables extending from the brain and body to connect to various computers. Their original identity would no longer exist, as if they had died on the operating table. There would be only one more Servitor of the Imperium.
The guardsmen ordered the other men to return to their work, while those who had gone to assist the injured worker administered a sedative injection, rendering him motionless on the dirt and stone ground. Antony returned to his pieces to separate them, carefully picking up one so as not to suffer the same fate as the other.
////
Minutes later, a Chimera tank appeared on the horizon, carrying two Servitors to take the wounded man to the Imperium camp. They carried him to a metal stretcher and then to the passenger section. One of the guardsmen climbed in with them, carrying a Lasgun rifle on his back.
“Everything is ready. We can go!” the armed man said to the Tech-priest, watching as the Servitors administered anesthetic injections to the injured man’s arm and oxygen mask.
Then the tank's engines roared, carrying the crew to their destination, disappearing into the gray horizon. The rest of the men went about their work, oblivious to what would happen next.
////
Hours later, lunch was served to the exhausted workers. The guards served the same stew as before. Despite its appearance and consistency, Antony ate again what the imperials had prepared at the camp.
“Same lunch as before. Apparently it never changes.” Antony thought, chewing on that meat mixture with some kind of dubious ingredient, sitting on the stone floor. His left hand held the bowl and his right hand the spoon.
Once again, he was face to face with the bald guy. His gaze was fixed on the food, chewing on the mixture handed to him by the guards. However, his eyes lifted to the boy's face, causing him discomfort to the point that his lunch became even colder and more bitter than before.
Antony tried to hide it, but sometimes the limit of tolerance became unstable. He turned his back to avoid seeing those sinister eyes. Once he did, he felt a slight relief, even though he knew he was still there. The guardsman was monitoring the workers in their places, eating that repetitive and monotonous meal. As he passed Antony, he noticed he wasn't in line with the others.
“Sir, turn around and return to your previous position.”
Hearing that, the Earth boy's eyes widened. The man ordering him to return to his previous position was enough to dampen his spirits, especially seeing that sinister face again.
“Fine,” Antony replied disapprovingly, but he heeded the local authority's order. He turned his body to face the man with the shaved head and eyebrows. The feeling of discomfort returned with that “Skinhead” in the Earth hero's vision.
////
After lunch, the workers and Antony formed a line to return their bowls and cutlery to the guards. Everyone settled in while the person in front moved forward after the other had passed their inspection. Antony held his utensils in his hands. The line moved slowly. However, one of the men in front, wearing a khaki shirt already stained gray and black, pants already marked by dangerous work, and a headband, showed signs of discomfort and heartburn. The stew didn't sit well, as the man tried to hold back his stomach juices. The pressure was so great that he couldn't hold it in any longer, releasing all the contents onto the stone and dusty ground. The man coughed as his stomach churned with discomfort, forcing him to vomit more.
The guards watched, the line freezing after another man, red-skinned, with earrings in his forehead and nose, bald, and wearing the same jacket as Björn, arrived to help him. This caused a sudden reaction from the soldier, approaching them with a stun baton.
“Get away from him, sir!” ordered the guard, approaching with the artifact in his hand.
“Guardsman, he needs medical help!” replied the man with the earrings, pleading for help from his colleague.
“I said back off!” the man replied, striking the other man in the chest with the baton. The shock was intense, causing his body to shudder and him to fall paralyzed into the pool of vomit. As for the other man, who was feeling ill, the man raised the barrel of the Laspistol, opening fire on the man's head. Antony closed his eyes, his face turning in horror at the scene, the body falling to the ground and his head turning into a bowl of blood and brain fragments. The others retreated in fear, maintaining their position in the line.
“Let this serve as an example to anyone who is unable to continue working! One more complaint and we'll set up a firing squad!” the Imperium guardsman exclaimed to the other workers.
The man who had fallen after being struck with the stun baton tried to get up from the ground, with bile dripping from his cheek and face. Just as he was about to regain his composure, the armed man stamped on his back, knocking the worker back into the puddle.
“You think we don't care about you?! You think paradise exists in the Imperium?!” the guard said, oppressing the fallen worker in front of everyone else as they waited in line to return their eating utensils. “No. This is a prison. A prison where you are destined to serve your endless sentences!”
For Antony, this was a part of the reality people lived in the Imperium. Something fueled by the Chaos Gods who were wracking the boy's mind. The others couldn't do anything about it. They watched the body being dragged away from the field by the other Imperial soldiers.
The man lying in the pool of vomit then recovered from the shock and physical trauma inflicted by the guard. He removed his foot from his back, allowing him to return to his duties. However, the sight of the other man being murdered in cold blood caused a certain backlash among the Imperium of Man and those serving in the military.
As the soldier carrying the Lasgun rifle in his hands passed on the left side of the line, his attention fell on Antony.
“This goes for you too. Don't think you're an exception compared to your criminal friends.”
“‘Criminal’?” Antony asked. “You mean this is a penal colony and I'm a prisoner?”
The guard stepped back for a moment. “Let's just say your sentence hasn't been decided yet, even though you're under our supervision, under Canoness Dolores' orders. Until then, you are not allowed to go anywhere.”
With nothing more to say, the Imperium soldier left the young man to monitor the progress of the line. Antony's eyes were wide. They expressed horror at hearing that Dallos IV was nothing more than a small penal colony of the Imperium of Man and that some people he met had serious criminal histories before the Imperium or those within the Emperor's sphere of influence.
Did the Sisters of Battle know that some of the rescued people were criminals? Or did they select some people for another camp, where a ship would actually pick them up, leaving the one Antony was in and the others under Imperial supervision, solely to perform penal services? None of this mattered to Antony, Earth's young hero. All that mattered most was getting out of this place, no matter who stopped him.
In the middle of that moment, with his gaze fixed on the guard's speech, he heard the sound of men calling him.
“Hey! The line won't move if you just stand there!” said one of the workers, banging his spoon on the bowl as he held it.
Hearing that, the boy's gaze returned to reality, walking towards the guards to return the utensils.
////
Once again, another day of work accomplished. Antony marched with the other men back to camp. His mind was racing with the guard's comment about the place being a penal colony. His clothes were filthy with sweat, dust, and small scratches from lifting heavy items and placing them in separate piles. The work there took its toll as time passed on Dallos IV. For those who had been there longer than Antony, parts of their bodies were taken away. Others suffered psychological trauma that slowly consumed them.
Looking around, the gray landscape and the darkening sky signaled that night was approaching. Turning his attention forward, he noticed the sharp-edged tattoo on the arm of a worker who had been in the same spot as before. It was the “skinhead” from before.
The boy's expression turned sour again. How long will that stranger stop showing up in his life? Antony looked around, searching for someone he could ask or request information without the guards.noticedhim. And to the boy's surprise, he found a dark-skinned, overweight worker with Asian features. Antony approached him, calling to him in a low voice.
“Hey, you.”
Hearing that, the man turned his gaze to his right.
“Yes?”
“Look, I don't want to sound ungrateful, but that bald guy with the weird tattoo is getting on my nerves,” Antony said quietly so as not to attract the attention of the guards, or the aforementioned man.
The dark-haired man with the slanted eyes looked at the shaved-headed worker. He saw the tattoo on his arm, but had no idea what it meant.
“Are you talking about Khozan?”
“Khozan? Is that the guy's name?”
“Yes, it is,” replied the dark-haired Asian.
“Is he really like that? All weird with his head and eyebrows shaved?”
“Well, I don't know him very well. They say he has a pretty big criminal record.”
“How big?”
“Seventeen assaults, thirty murders, five cases of violence followed by rape, nine acts of sabotage, and fifteen cases of violations in Imperial shrines and temples. You could say Khozan is a troubled man.”
“Right.”
“Is there a problem with him?” asked the Asian man, curious to know the reason for Antony’s curiosity and annoyance towards the most dangerous man.
“Not directly, but almost every time he looks at me strangely, as if I'm going to do something to him. Isn't there any way you can ask the guards to make him stop?”
“Look, the guardsmen don't care what happens to us. And besides, Khozan isn't much of a talker if you try to speak to him directly.”
“I see,” Antony replied, looking ahead, but slightly at the ground. Looking up, Khozan was no longer there. For some reason, he'd either left the route or continued on his march to camp.
Everything continued as normal, as the line of people moved uninterrupted to reach their final destination.
////
Another night arrived on Dallos IV, and once again, Antony found himself in the hospital bed of that closed room. He slept tossing and turning, trying to fall asleep in the freezing temperature and on that straight, flat, hard, and uncomfortable bed.
The guardsman who had been watching him in his room now patrolled the premises from outside. He kept his Lasgun rifle slung across his back. The same khaki uniform, green armor, and helmet pulsed with the glow of the streetlights.
The hallways and room were lit, with a few flickering lights. While on patrol, something knocked out the facility's power grid, knocking out all the lights. The guardsman removed the rifle from his back, disabling the security mechanisms, and switched on a flashlight from his helmet. Now he had the means to engage anyone in the darkness while protecting the entrance to the hospital room.
One of the ceiling lights in the corridor glowed, but dimly. The guardsman spotted a humanoid figure emerging from the shadows. He couldn't see it very well, even with his helmet's flashlight pointed forward. He raised his Lasgun rifle, aiming it at the mysterious figure.
“Who's there?! Identify yourself!” warned the man from the Imperium, pointing his gun at the figure.
The figure paused for a moment. It didn't respond to the request for identification. Instead, it raised some kind of pistol, pointing it at the guard. The weapon emitted a blue glow from a sort of chamber in the barrel. The soldier was startled. But it wasn't the weapon that surprised him. It was the projectile that emerged from the muzzle. It was a sort of ball of plasma concentrated into a single shot. It was bluish in color and bright in tone, traveling at astonishing speed.
The guardsman felt the projectile pierce his chest, striking the metal door, dissipating massively, burning everything on the metal surface to the point where a black, circular mark remained. However, for the guard, the projectile pierced him, leaving a large hole that consumed his chest and everything on it. His rifle, hands, and part of his arms were consumed by that ball of blue plasma. He couldn't stand for long, feeling his body lose balance due to the intense pain of the burn and his destroyed heart.
The mysterious figure saw the imperial soldier fall hard to the ground, causing a loud thud on the metal floor. The guard's eyes were wide, expressing horror at the loss of his life. Blood dripped from his mouth, while the hole left by the gunshot had cauterized his veins and arteries. With nothing else to do for him, the figure walked to the door, accessing the panel next to it to open it.
////
On the other side, Antony heard the sound of the door opening from outside, along with footsteps on the metal floor. He got up from the bed, keeping his gaze fixed on that place. And amidst the darkness, a light appeared as the inner door opened, a shadow growing as I entered that cold room. The boy was a little startled. From the doorway emerged a humanoid figure, addressing him. It was the bald guy with shaved eyebrows.
“Hello, Antony,” the sinister-faced man greeted. “We met at last.”
“You! The ‘skinhead’ from the work camp,” Antony replied, his heart racing with fear at the sight of the man who sometimes bothered him. Then he called out his name. “Khozan.”
-x-
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