>I cast my gaze over the several reports atop my desk
>the red tinge of my augmetic left eye dulled slightly in the candle light of the room
>the open window carried in the smell of rain, the sounds of the storm passing overhead creating the white noise with which I work
>lifting one of the reports from the desk, a packet held together by a singular struggling staple, I flipped over the cover page to decipher what exactly it was
>a requisition order from the Quartermaster
>60 lasguns 
>20 heavy stubbers
>200,000 stubber rounds
>300 Demolition packs
>I stop on the last one
>reading it again as my eyebrow raises from beneath the mask
>a muted ‘hmm’ escaping my lips as I review the remainder of the packet
>all is accounted for as far as munitorum nonsense(edited)
[2:27 AM]
>after a few passes with the augmetic eye I can tell none of the signatures are falsified
>all that remains now is my signature
>looking over the list once more i'm curious
>we have no more than 10 demolition Experts in this section
>I let out a long breath
>the pop hiss of the respirator increasing in pitch as I lift myself from the straight backed Faux Oak chair
>for a moment I catch a glimpse of myself in the small decorative mirror
>a small ‘gift’ from the local magistrate
>he intended it as a bribe surely
>though much like the mirror, he too is now hanging somewhere half forgotten (needs more here)
>I look at the reflection for a few moments(edited)
[2:27 AM]
>the mask staring back, the short cropped blond hair that protrudes unevenly around the Rubberized straps of the Respirator 
>for a moment I hardly recognized myself
>Atleast not without my hat
>I take said cap off the backrest, placing it firmly atop my head
>preening only momentarily as I cross the room
>straightening out my back as my augmetic leg begins to fall into stride after a moment
>my stubbornness keeps me from visiting the tech priests
>though more likely I’d have a hard time getting out of their workshop (Re write later)
>last I passed by there a few of them made signs of the Omnissaia and screeched at me in binary (talk to kevin)
>I throw the coat on once more and reach for the door(edited)
[2:28 AM]
>stepping out into the hall of the Town house shared by the rest of my ‘staff’ I quietly make my way down into the living room and out Through the front door
>the Irian humidity clubbing me even now as the spring rain became a torrential downpour
>the lense of my non augmetic eye fogging for a few moments before clearing
>a sweat beginning to form already under the great coat
>I didn’t bother to take the sword from its post beside my desk, not on a day like today
>it was a relatively nice day after all
>that thought drew a unseen smile to my lips, the memory of our first landing upon Iria IV
>the crescendoeing groan from every man as they unloaded from the Valkyries and other drop ships
>I stood on the corner of the main boulevard of the town we had taken not more than half a year ago
>as I drew a humid breath I could almost smell the burnt Ozone of Lasgun fire and Plasma
[2:28 AM]
>crossing the quiet street, boots splashing off of each cobble stone I notice a fist sized plasma scorch on one of the stone buildings
>I run my hand over it for a moment
>I could almost see it now
>pushing with plasma pistol and Chainsword in hand over the mounds of mutants and cultists
>it’s impressive, how we managed to clean this place up since then
>whatever remained of loyal civilians even decided to stay
>I continue to walk though the rain unbothered as I make my way to the ‘green district’ as it had been coined
>much to my Chagrin, as I approached the checkpoint, the sloppily dressed guardsman manning it snored in a deep sleep
>for a moment, my hand twitched
>making to reach for the plasma pistol at my hip
>but it stopped half way
>I realized, a lesson could be made of this
>one that even a summary execution could not beat
>Cadians you see.. they have a reputation to keep
>Atleast most of them do
>making my way around the checkpoint I slip into the hutch in which the guardsman is sleeping
>eyeing the cheap Plastic chair he had decided for his impromptu nap
>there was a moment of thought before I brought my augmetic leg back
>as I brought it foward with the full force of the emperors engineering the plastic chairs legs gave out 
>there was a moment where balance held
>then like a titans who’s legs had been cut out from under it the guardsman toppled backwards
>ripped from his dream as he impacted the ground with a single thud
>his eyes meeting my mask
>before he could speak, I raised a finger to my mask to silence him
>speaking with a even tone I explained to him the price of his mistake
[2:28 AM]
>”Half rations for your squad for the next week, I’ll have the staff turn over your barracks for contraband as well, do not let this happen again” 
>for a moment I stopped looking for his insignia of rank
>”Corporal” I added after a moment
>then, like a bad dream I disspeared from his view
>stepping once  more into the rain
>heading on in the direction of the quartermasters ‘office’