• Profile picture of Purge ( Umberto Slinn )

    ( This is very long. I felt like writing. )

    * With a large blast mark on the side of his helm he staggered back from a battle and fell to one knee with a great thud. The ground bowed underneath him from the force and catapulted sods of dirt into the air before settling. The cracked lenses on his eyes flickered in an attempt to maintain power before he ripped the helmet off and tossed it casually away. Though given his super human nature the ‘ casual ‘ act resulted in a cannon like propulsion that put the helmet through a wall three hundred feet away. With the helmet gone it was apparent that whatever hit him was quite forceful as his neck had broken leaving his head at an unnatural angle, a fact he swiftly rectified by a sudden hard punch to the side of his head and a cracking noise that broke the surrounding silence. *

    Optic nerve damaged, attempting repair.

    * His right eye twitched and jolted around like a caged animal trying to escape before fixing perfectly in front of him and firing a projection onto the ground he looked at. An image constructed itself with exact detail before the motionless marine, but the image was of Guardsmen. Given his past as a proud member of the Vostroyan First Born it was near certainly a projection of his past, perhaps that is why he remained so still. Two Guardsmen were sat in a reasonably constructed trench doing maintenance on a selection of Lasguns as other Guardsmen walked in and out of view. Vostroyan equipment is unique in that it is ancient and passed down from Guardsmen to Guardsmen to the extent of which the official field manual for a member of the Guard mentions that the priority in a battle is to save the equipment and not its user. On the left was a young man with slight stubble but a well maintained buzz cut who had his helm rested atop the Lasgun he was holding while he was scraping dirt from the magazine. Meanwhile on the right was a young woman with long flowing hair as crimson as the uniform they both wore beneath the polished armour. She was gazing down the remover barrel of a Lasgun to check for debris as her helm slowly slid forward before falling to the ground and rolling away slightly through a thick patch of mud. *

    [Woman] Urgh! Damn it! It takes forever for these lumps of fur to dry and I just cleaned it again. This is why I’m always late to inspection, the damn straps on mine don’t hold it at all and if I lost it in a charge I’d be made to search the whole planet until I found it.

    * The man sighed and shook his head dismissively before getting up, walking over to her and carefully dropping his helm on her head. Much to her surprise as her face dropped all its frustrations and replaced them with confusion as she looked up to him. He greeted her in kind with a reassuring smile kneeling in front of her and setting down the weapon in his hand. Before she had a chance to speak he had pulled the straps down firmly and fastens them tightly under her chin. *

    [Man] If you actually took a minute to read the field manual you’d know how to adjust them properly. Your not a recruit anymore, can’t have you going around without a good clean helmet. If nothing else you’ll leave the Lt without a voice again from all the shouting.

    * The man got up, picked up the weapon and retrieved her helm on the way back to where he was previously sat. The entire time the woman danced between embarrassment, annoyance and confusion before settling on a mixture of all three and yelling back. *

    [Woman] I can look after myself! Your not the boss of me! I just get stiff hands from the cold and….shut up! I’m not a kid so don’t treat me like one ok?

    * She frowned at him then looked to the ground sheepishly before mumbling *

    [Woman] Thanks…. You know you don’t have to help me right?

    [Man] I know, I know. Even the Guard doesn’t put kids on the front, they just let a drill sergeant yell at them for a few years. Still don’t see what the big deal is though. Friends help each other right?

    * At this point he was stopped from trying to wipe mud off her helm by her throwing of an empty magazine at his face, knocking him back. The hologram faded away leaving the just the Marine. Isolated. Alone. Silent. *