"Ugh… it's in worse shape than I remember," Martin muttered, eyeing the rogue trader vessel—refitted from an old cargo hauler. It stretched some 800 metres long, 100 metres tall, and roughly 200 metres wide. Patches of rust pocked its hull, sections were battered and broken, and it drifted lifelessly through the planet's upper atmosphere. Let's hope there's nothing waiting inside.
"My lord, I must advise: this course of action seems most unwise," A40AT tried to caution. He knew all too well how terrifying derelict ships adrift in the void could be—especially amid a raging warp storm.
"It'll be our first ship, the two of us," Martin replied, guiding their small shuttle smoothly into the docking bay.
"How is the child faring?" Martin asked as they disembarked.
"Her condition is stable, sir," A40AT reported, loading his weapon and checking their remaining supplies. "But her brain activity has spiked sharply; it appears she is dreaming."
"Good." Martin gently lifted Molly with his right arm, pulled open the shuttle's airlock with his left, and stepped out into the gloom.
"Switch to night mode," he murmured, as his vision shifted to infrared. Readouts flickered into view: remaining power, ammunition, water, rations—all glowing faintly against the dark.
The corridor was cramped and dim. Martin and A40AT moved slowly, weapons raised—you never knew what might lurk in the shadows, maybe even genestealers.
Martin swept every chamber they passed. Most held little of interest beyond filth he was unaccustomed to, scattered personal effects, and the standard gear found on any Imperial vessel.
They pressed deeper into the ship, until they reached the command deck. In that moment, Martin understood exactly what had befallen the crew.
All of them had been twisted into Chaos Spawn, twitching and wailing in mindless agony.
Before he could even think, Martin passed Molly blindly to A40AT—just as a colossal Chaos Spawn lunged straight for him.
He threw himself sideways, hurling a grenade straight into its gaping maw.
BOOM!!!
The blast tore through its flesh in a spray of gore. The shockwave slammed down the corridor, ringing Martin's ears so badly the world went fuzzy for a heartbeat. But it didn't fall—if anything, the explosion only drove it into a wilder, more murderous frenzy!
"Damnation!" Martin cursed, ducking a swipe of its claws before driving his chainsword deep into its torso. The creature stalled for a moment—then Martin hefted its bulk and hurled it full-force against the bulkhead.
CRACK!!!
He raised his arm and fired his volkite gun without hesitation. The dark corridor blazed to life; searing heat roasted the creature's flesh, sending it thrashing and shrieking.
"Burn in hell!" Martin tossed a fire grenade at its feet. Flames engulfed the spawn, setting it alight. It thrashed and wailed louder than ever, until finally its movements slowed… and fell still.
Not taking chances, Martin put two more rounds into the smouldering corpse, just to be sure.
"Close call, my lord," A40AT said, stepping forward while still holding Molly securely.
"Too close. First things first—we need to bring this ship online, or we're dead in the void," Martin said, turning to the command console and tapping at the controls.
One by one, flickering yellow-white bulbs along the ceiling sputtered to life, driving back the gloom until the whole bridge was lit. The low thrum of the main generator rose up through the deck beneath their boots.
Cogitator screens glowed green, scrolling lines of ancient Gothic script:
PRIMA NAVIGATIUM SYSTEM – REINITIALIZATION... SUCCESS
CREW MANIFEST: NOT FOUND
ATMOSPHERIC STABILITY: NOMINAL
MAIN POWER: 58% CAPACITY
INTERNAL LIGHTING: ONLINE
LIFE SUPPORT: STANDBY
Five hours later
"How much supplies does this tub have?" Martin asked A40AT, having finished scouring every corner of the vessel—even for a light hauler, the stores were larger than he'd expected.
"Enough to sustain the three of us for a full year, sir," A40AT replied. He'd already checked the most critical areas, including the medicae bay, where Molly now rested. He'd bathed her, changed her dressings, treated her wounds, and administered pain relief—barring complications, she should make a full recovery.
Yet even after all his long centuries of service, Martin could not shake the heavy, hollow ache that came with loss, with seeing so much good turned to ruin.
"SCREEEEECH!"
A bloodcurdling scream tore from Molly's throat. Martin jumped, spinning around with his heart hammering against his ribs.
Molly was hovering several feet above the bunk, swirling waves of warp energy and null force pouring off her in blinding surges—until it all detonated outward, slamming Martin hard into the bulkhead.
THUD!
His Terminator armour crashed against the steel hull, leaving him dazed for a long moment. Shaking off the blow, he snapped back to full alert, bracing himself for whatever this sudden awakening might bring.
It was so dark…
She was dreaming again—the same nightmare. That day. The day everything broke apart. Screams, gunfire, her father's voice…
Molly woke gasping, tears spilling down her cheeks. She lifted her hands to wipe her face—then froze. The bandaged stumps of her arms were all she found, crisscrossed with pale, silvery scars.
Where her eyes should have been were only empty sockets; the rough iron plate she'd worn to hide them was gone.
But this was not her father's old room. Nor the cold cell where those men had locked her away. She lay on a bed that was soft, and warm, and impossibly clean.
The air smelled of polished metal, faint antiseptic, and machine oil. The low, steady whir of servos hummed all around her. She listened, tense and afraid.
Then someone spoke.
"Hello."
The voice was steady, gentle—and so familiar her heart skipped a beat. She turned her head slowly, trembling.
"…Lord Martin?" she whispered, thick with fear and doubt.
"Yes," he said softly. "You are safe now, in the medicae bay of my ship. No harm will come to you here."
She fell quiet for a long moment, then breathed so faintly he almost missed it:
"…I am so afraid… you will not look at me like the others… will you?"
Martin paused, then knelt until he was level with her. His tone was firm, yet brimming with kindness.
"Fear not, little one. The Emperor's angel stands before you. And I see no reason to shrink from you. None at all."
"Truly?" she breathed.
"On my honour as a Space Marine of the Imperium, it is true. What is your name, child?"
She swallowed hard, fighting back fresh tears, and nodded slowly.
"Elisia… Molly, sir."
Martin smiled—even if she could not see it, his voice held nothing but warmth and quiet pride.
"It is an honour to meet you, Molly."
At that moment, her stomach gave a loud, rumbling growl. Martin bit back a quiet laugh.
"From this day forth, I will protect you. I will keep you safe… but first, it seems you are in need of a meal."