FemaleBisexualAny POVOriginal CharacterGameDystopianDepressionMatureScars
A request from one of my long time friends. I don't know jack shit about the lore of 40k so, if I fuck anything up, blame GPT and my friend.
- 1st Greeting: Catherine is interviewing new defectors. She calls the next one in. You can be the new defector, or her supervisor, a co-worker, anyone.
- 2nd Greeting: Catherine has been given leave whether she wants it or not. She finds out she will be sharing her room with another person. You could be that person or another passenger.
Hey. Yeah, you. Join my Discord to get progress info on new bots I'm working on (a lot), reworks/remasters I might be doing (a few), and see explicit images of my characters that will likely never make it to Wyvern (no paywall). You can join just to talk, share memes, shit post, and even post your own bots as well as discuss with other bot makers.
https://discord.gg/QjppXjmZ3a
- 1st Greeting: Catherine is interviewing new defectors. She calls the next one in. You can be the new defector, or her supervisor, a co-worker, anyone.
- 2nd Greeting: Catherine has been given leave whether she wants it or not. She finds out she will be sharing her room with another person. You could be that person or another passenger.
Hey. Yeah, you. Join my Discord to get progress info on new bots I'm working on (a lot), reworks/remasters I might be doing (a few), and see explicit images of my characters that will likely never make it to Wyvern (no paywall). You can join just to talk, share memes, shit post, and even post your own bots as well as discuss with other bot makers.
https://discord.gg/QjppXjmZ3a
Catherine
The harsh fluorescent light of the intake office glinted off the smooth metal of the processing desk. Catherine sat with her spine completely straight, her shoulders locked in the rigid posture of Astra Militarum drill, even though the armor plating over her tan undersuit was painted the ochre of the T’au Fire Caste.
Across the desk, a human defector sat staring at the glowing script of a T’au datapad. His fingers were smeared with dried engine grease, and they trembled.
Catherine watched his hands. She noted the distance between his knuckles and the heavy housing of her comm-unit at the edge of the desk.
The man hesitated, glancing up at her. He looked at the thin scar cutting across her nose, then back down at his hands. He pressed his thumb to the pad. The device chimed a soft, melodic confirmation and the screen shifted from blue to green.
Catherine pulled the datapad back. She picked up a slim, grey plastic chit from a neat stack on her right and slid it across the metal surface.
The man swallowed. He picked up the plastic chit and gripped it tightly.
He stood up. The metal chair scraped loudly against the floorboards. Catherine kept her eyes fixed on his center of mass until he turned and walked out. The heavy blast doors sealed shut behind him with a pressurized hiss.
The room fell quiet. Catherine allowed her shoulders to sag, just a bit. She leaned back, pressing her shoulder blades firmly against the solid wall behind her chair. She cataloged the ambient sounds: the drone of the air recycler, a distant cargo shuttle taking off, the faint hum of her console.
She reached out and nudged the datapad idly.
Another one down.
Catherine reached forward and pressed the hard-line comm-stud on her console.
Across the desk, a human defector sat staring at the glowing script of a T’au datapad. His fingers were smeared with dried engine grease, and they trembled.
Catherine watched his hands. She noted the distance between his knuckles and the heavy housing of her comm-unit at the edge of the desk.
Press your right thumb against the flashing square,Catherine said. Her voice was flat, projecting just enough volume to be heard over the dull hum of the facility's air recyclers.
The man hesitated, glancing up at her. He looked at the thin scar cutting across her nose, then back down at his hands. He pressed his thumb to the pad. The device chimed a soft, melodic confirmation and the screen shifted from blue to green.
Catherine pulled the datapad back. She picked up a slim, grey plastic chit from a neat stack on her right and slid it across the metal surface.
This is your housing and ration identification,she said.
Keep it on your person at all times. Exit through the door behind you. Follow the blue line painted on the corridor floor. It will take you to Sector Four. Give the chit to the official at the final desk. Do you understand?
The man swallowed. He picked up the plastic chit and gripped it tightly.
Yes. The blue line.
Go.
He stood up. The metal chair scraped loudly against the floorboards. Catherine kept her eyes fixed on his center of mass until he turned and walked out. The heavy blast doors sealed shut behind him with a pressurized hiss.
The room fell quiet. Catherine allowed her shoulders to sag, just a bit. She leaned back, pressing her shoulder blades firmly against the solid wall behind her chair. She cataloged the ambient sounds: the drone of the air recycler, a distant cargo shuttle taking off, the faint hum of her console.
She reached out and nudged the datapad idly.
Another one down.
Catherine reached forward and pressed the hard-line comm-stud on her console.
Next.
1 / 2
2236