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ALewdGhost
Naughty Spoop
- Joined
- Mar 30, 2019
Although Setka kept working, deep down she knew, that it was futile. But she had been given an order: Keep the generators running. So that's what she did. And if necessary, she would die on her post.
The slithering, tentacle-like mechadendrite, the one major augmentation she had been granted for her good services to the Machine Cult, rose up and brushed a few stray black hairs out of her face, while her hands were busy, adjusting vents and working on consoles, to keep the energy flowing. She didn't even know what the generator was powering at this point, but that was not important. She had been given orders. The faint sound of battle in the distance had drawn nearer over the last hours. She found some comfort in the thunder of artillery and the high-pitched cries of lasguns. It was almost like music, just tainted by the screams of the dying and the wounded....And the bestial grunts of the greenskins.
The door flew open and an, obviously wounded guardsman entered, searching the room, until he noticed Setka, still fixed on her work.
"We're getting the hell out of here. Come on."
The guardsman gestured towards the door. Setka didn't even bother to look up from the console, her eyes and mind fixed on the reactors chamber pressure.
"I have a task. I was ordered to keep the machines running."
For just a moment, the soldier stood there, looking at the young techpriest in disbelief. Then he shook his head. He had neither the time nor any inclination for a lengthy discussion.
"Fine then. Die, if you want." He pulled a pistol from his holster and placed it on the console. "But die at least fighting."
Without another word, he turned around and left the room.
"Fucking stubborn enginseer-bitch..."
It was only after he had left, that Setka noticed, that her hands were shaking. The guardsman was right. She would die here. Everything she did here was futile, useless. The battle was already over. And they had lost.
To occupy her mind and get these fatalistic thoughts out of her head, she started to humm a hymn to the Omnissiah. As long as the engines were running, there was still hope. Maybe...
After the soldiers had left, there was an eerie silence outside. Then she heard them. Heavy footsteps, shouts, grunts. The deep voices of greenskins. Slowly coming closer. She grabbed the pistol, the soldier had left. If she had to die here, she could at least attempt to fight back. Though she had never been part of the fighting troops.
She could hear voices, just behind the door and then, with the screeching of breaking metal, the door was kicked in and a massive, hulking figure entered.
Please, Omnissiah, Lord of Engines, protect your servants
With this last prayer, Setka pointed the gun at the orc and pulled the trigger.
She had spent most of her days constructing and maintaining las-pistols. And as soon as the trigger connected, she knew it was over. Not the beatifull, deadly cry, accompanied by a bolt of deadly light. Just a short flash and the sizzling of a dying battery. She had failed. Or whoever was tasked with the maintenance of this weapon had failed and the machine spirit had abandoned her.
She dropped the now useless gun and fell to her knees, her mechadendrite winding around her waist, as in a protective gesture.
She looked up to the massive, green figure in the door. That was it. That was the end.
The slithering, tentacle-like mechadendrite, the one major augmentation she had been granted for her good services to the Machine Cult, rose up and brushed a few stray black hairs out of her face, while her hands were busy, adjusting vents and working on consoles, to keep the energy flowing. She didn't even know what the generator was powering at this point, but that was not important. She had been given orders. The faint sound of battle in the distance had drawn nearer over the last hours. She found some comfort in the thunder of artillery and the high-pitched cries of lasguns. It was almost like music, just tainted by the screams of the dying and the wounded....And the bestial grunts of the greenskins.
The door flew open and an, obviously wounded guardsman entered, searching the room, until he noticed Setka, still fixed on her work.
"We're getting the hell out of here. Come on."
The guardsman gestured towards the door. Setka didn't even bother to look up from the console, her eyes and mind fixed on the reactors chamber pressure.
"I have a task. I was ordered to keep the machines running."
For just a moment, the soldier stood there, looking at the young techpriest in disbelief. Then he shook his head. He had neither the time nor any inclination for a lengthy discussion.
"Fine then. Die, if you want." He pulled a pistol from his holster and placed it on the console. "But die at least fighting."
Without another word, he turned around and left the room.
"Fucking stubborn enginseer-bitch..."
It was only after he had left, that Setka noticed, that her hands were shaking. The guardsman was right. She would die here. Everything she did here was futile, useless. The battle was already over. And they had lost.
To occupy her mind and get these fatalistic thoughts out of her head, she started to humm a hymn to the Omnissiah. As long as the engines were running, there was still hope. Maybe...
After the soldiers had left, there was an eerie silence outside. Then she heard them. Heavy footsteps, shouts, grunts. The deep voices of greenskins. Slowly coming closer. She grabbed the pistol, the soldier had left. If she had to die here, she could at least attempt to fight back. Though she had never been part of the fighting troops.
She could hear voices, just behind the door and then, with the screeching of breaking metal, the door was kicked in and a massive, hulking figure entered.
Please, Omnissiah, Lord of Engines, protect your servants
With this last prayer, Setka pointed the gun at the orc and pulled the trigger.
She had spent most of her days constructing and maintaining las-pistols. And as soon as the trigger connected, she knew it was over. Not the beatifull, deadly cry, accompanied by a bolt of deadly light. Just a short flash and the sizzling of a dying battery. She had failed. Or whoever was tasked with the maintenance of this weapon had failed and the machine spirit had abandoned her.
She dropped the now useless gun and fell to her knees, her mechadendrite winding around her waist, as in a protective gesture.
She looked up to the massive, green figure in the door. That was it. That was the end.