Robert leapt out of the cage, glancing back at the hole he'd created. "Ah, well. It's still good for repairs, right? Randy can fix it. He always does."
"The Emperor's name! I'm a medic, not a tech-priest!" Randy's voice came from the side, as he stood, hands on his hips, clearly fed up with the constant damage caused by the Astartes.
Robert smiled broadly, slinging his arm around Randy's shoulder armor. "You've got so many skills, Randy. Why not learn how to fix things, too? After all, the best way to heal a warrior is to slay the enemy!"
"Get off," Randy muttered, clearly unimpressed, but Robert just chuckled, clearly enjoying himself.
Tony followed Robert out, wiping sweat from his face with a towel. He was as relaxed as ever.
"Everything alright, Lord John?" Tony asked, tossing the towel aside.
"Aside from you two wrecking everything? Yes, yes. We've got a new mission."
At this, the Astartes all looked up, their attention fully on John. Standing tall, he adopted his usual posture—one hand behind his back—and addressed the group with a quiet authority. "The Lord Inquisitor of Highgate has sent word. We're needed in the Victoria system."
"Victoria?" Johnson asked, the old wolf's brow furrowing. "Do we know what the threat is?"
John glanced at his old friend and shook his head slightly. "No idea. If Highgate didn't tell us, then no one knows."
"Ha! Great!" Robert barked, grinning from ear to ear. "This is just like a hunt in Fenris, Johnson! Tracking prey across the snowy fields, and finally, bringing it down!"
"I prefer to be more cautious," Randy said, his voice calm as always, though his gaze flickered nervously. "Inquisitor, do we have any more information?"
Before John could respond, Robert leaned in and shot Randy a mockingly amused look. "Don't be so boring, Randy. Not everything needs to follow the sacred scriptures."
Tony smirked, adjusting the lining of his armor. He hefted his power sword onto his shoulder, then threw a chain axe to Robert, who caught it with ease. "Alright, enough chatting. Let's head to the bridge. What do you think, old wolf? I'm not missing the jump this time."
Johnson chuckled, his teeth gleaming in a grin. "Indeed. Lead the way, Judge."
John and Johnson exchanged a knowing look before John holstered his bolter and nodded toward the door. "Of course, but I suspect we'll have to deal with a few complaints first."
As they made their way to the bridge, the familiar sounds of the warship echoed in the corridors. Bryan, standing near the command console, was glaring at the small crowd of Astartes. "Johnson! Tony!" he shouted with a deep growl. "You've dismantled my equipment again!"
Bryan's scowl deepened as the two burly giants in black armor walked past him without so much as a glance, heading straight for the bridge. Both were wearing big smiles, as if the chaos they'd caused was just another day at the office.
Bryan looked helplessly at Robert, who was also grinning like a wolf who'd just found a fresh carcass. He sighed heavily. "Randy, if they cause more trouble, use the stun gun. Knock them out if you have to."
Randy, who had been standing to the side, just nodded. His hand rested on the anesthetic injector at his waist, a signal that he was ready to act if necessary.
Johnson and John walked past Bryan with barely a word, and Bryan sighed again. Straightening his collar, he shook his head and followed them onto the bridge. Standing between the four Astartes, he glanced at the viewscreen, watching the swirling vortex of energy forming in the starry expanse ahead.
The storm of swirling lightning and chaotic waves of energy seemed to pulse and churn, threatening to consume everything. He wasn't sure who he was looking at, the Captain, the Astartes, or the Inquisitors, but at that moment, it felt like they were all in this together. Bryan's eyes narrowed as he studied the swirling vortex ahead. "Attention all hands. We're entering warp. Prepare for travel."
John, who had followed him to the bridge, stood tall beside him, his gaze on the crew below. "Let the adventure begin," he said, a spark of excitement in his eyes.
The ship's massive vector engines roared to life, blue flames bursting from the rear. With a shudder, the enormous warship turned and sped into the turbulent storm of the subspace, sailing toward a new journey through the starry sea.
The Imperial Navy's warships were massive, massive ships—floating cities in space. You could find anything here: shops, hospitals, schools, churches, entertainment venues... even a black market, if you knew where to look. The thing was, no one could truly claim to know every inch of the ship. Without a map, anyone could get lost in the labyrinthine corridors for days, or even weeks, until they happened upon a crew member who actually knew where they were going.
John didn't know the entire ship, and he wasn't sure Bryan did either. But there was one thing he knew for certain: everyone had a part of the ship they were most familiar with. For John, it was the Deathwatch team. And for the Astartes, it was the landing bays.
The massive hangar stretched out before them. Rows of Thunderhawk gunships, Star Shark fighters, and ground landing craft lined the open space. Ground crews, serJohnrs, and Mechanicus priests worked tirelessly to maintain the machines of war.
John leaned against the top step of the platform, watching the frenetic activity below. The ships were all waiting—waiting for the day when they would be awakened by the flames of war once again. "Everything's in order here, Inquisitor," Tony said, standing behind him, his sword in hand and the winged helmet of the Dark Angels tucked under his arm.
"Just that we might need to restock the jump torpedoes," he added with a grin.
John shrugged, a hint of amusement on his face. "How about I swing by the next starport and pick up a fresh batch for him?"
Lancelot gave a wry smile and pointed to a spot on the tarmac with his massive armored finger. "Then we'll have to talk to the people responsible. You know, those electronic psychos."
John's smile deepened as he gestured for Lancelot to follow him. Normally, Astartes were notorious for despising being commanded by mortals, but this time it was different. Lancelot didn't hesitate. There was no objection, no complaint—he simply followed.
The towering Space Marine, wielding a power sword, marched behind John with the heavy, deliberate steps of a soldier used to battle. As they walked, airport personnel bowed respectfully, parting like waves before them. John smiled and nodded at everyone, his demeanor so disarmingly friendly that he didn't seem at all like an Inquisitor. Then again, he wasn't that kind of Inquisitor.
The ones who liked shooting first and asking questions later were, admittedly, a rare breed even within the Inquisition. And for good reason—they didn't tend to last long. In a universe where people valued survival, that particular breed of Inquisitor wasn't particularly likable.
They crossed the vast tarmac, passing massive machines blessed by the Adeptus Mechanicus, their workers welding and repairing them. Sparks fell from the ceiling like strange, fiery snowflakes. The sound of tools grinding and metal scraping filled the air.
Ahead, a Thunderhawk loomed—its nose painted with the snarling shark head emblem. Beneath its wing, a priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus was hunched over, his mechanical arms flitting about, working with impressive speed and precision. His mechanical eyes—several of them, each with a different function—swiveled around like gleaming emeralds.
"Hello, Octopus," John greeted with a chuckle.