Varstras chuckled loudly at the boy's tale, "He got a 'bad' prosthetic, and instead of doin' the logical thing, he keeps it to give himself something to be angry about...niiice..." He commented in a much warmer tone than when he first met the boy, then pulled his sword and grinned wickedly to Lazerus, "I say we hack it off and try again, eh, Big Daddy?" He made a crazed licking motion along the blade of his sword, then laughed and sheathed the weapon again. "So, basically, he was gonna be a mindjob anyway, no matter how we approached him...well, ya'll don't need to worry about getting him riled, right Psykes?" He chuckled again and continued leading the Squad towards the hab block, and the angry Sergeant therein.

Lazerus was pouting. It's not like he had cut off the poor man's arm. Really he actually tried to be nice too. He was considered a bit...odd for that among the rest of his brothers in the Cult of Sollex but apparently the faraway look he got when considering ancient weaponry more than made up for it.

Still it was upsetting to see someone decide to hate him just because of another tech-priests sloppy job. Maybe he'd have to review that book of his "How to Make Friends in 12 Easy Steps" when this whole thing was over. He was sure he had seen a heading along the lines of "How to overcome a bad first impression" somewhere...

That the man kept his arm only as a memento of anger worried Lazarus too, if the man himself was so tortured by what had happened all that time ago, imagine the poor machine-spirit, chained to him, hated by it's user and still not properly attached. Maybe he should see about getting it fixed or exchanged for the man? Ah, but he wouldn't listen to him. Maybe Varstras? For all his off-color jokes the man could be charming. Verbal? Lazerus had no doubt Verbal could convince the man, but suspected the man would be even LESS tractable afterward.

He had been following Varstras but a sudden realization made him pause for a moment as he fumed in annoyance. This had always been his problem really. Too easily distracted. All this worry and he still hadn't seen the piece of tech that had drawn his friends away from the walker.

Lost in thought like this the boom was quite a shock to Lazerus. He practically jumped right out of his robes from sheer shock. Whipping around he saw Verbal come trotting around a corner with a pleased look in his eye and a little blood-spray on his clothes. Lumis was noticeably absent.

Oh dear, it seemed the two had been roughhousing again. Lazerus wasn't sure why Lumis bothered anymore, he never really won, and the little mock fights seemed to get more and more foolhardy each time. Last time the two had even used knives, and Lumis had nearly did of bloodloss. Verbal really should learn to be more careful, he was so easily upset, poor thing. After that previous incident he hadn't left the temporary room the Inquisitor had kindly assigned him in the brig for months.

Lazerus sighed and made a little waving motion at Verbal. Lumis would be along later, after he got whatever little nicks cleaned up, and his pride healed up, until then he doubted he would be seeing much of the fellow.

.

As your group walks down the main thorough fare of the camp, dodging around a particularly large crater, you notice a particularly large area, hemmed in by a fence that is capped with what looks like chain-blades along the top. The fence stands some three meters in height. On your side of the fence, you notice what appears to be a severed hand, lying in a pool of blood. Opposite this spectacle is a corpse, its face a grimace of determination, from the looks of the mouth. There is an oozing bullet hole where the eyes and nose should be. The corpse is dressed in light grey mining garb stained black with dust and soot. A dozen more men and women, dressed similarly to the corpse wander lethargically around the cage. Dirty, forlorn faces stare at you as you pass. A few guards dressed in black flak armor, wearing full-face helmets with photo-visors patrol the perimeter. They carry what appears to be heavy lasguns, though any noviatiate of the Adeptus Mechanicus would see these to be Viscerator Hellguns.

Suddenly, one of the prisoners runs towards you, careful not to touch the fence. His eyes gaze imploringly at you, his face gaunt and fearful. "Please... please help me! I swear by the Throne! I swear! I did nothing!"

Lazerus made a little tut-tut-tut noise at the man.
"Oh, you poor dear. But I'm afraid I can't really help you, I don't have the time." he cocked his head and stared at the miserable lot.
"Oh, well I suppose I can spare a little help" he said. He settled back onto his heels and put on his best "kindly lecturer" voice.

"Well first off, you clearly have done something, or you wouldn't be here. People who don't do things don't get put in places like that. So therefore you must have done something. It's all very simple when you think about it. Now...you! In the back! Spit it out! No, I don't care what it is, spit it out! Out! There, much better, now where was I?"

Lazerus fumed at the shocked looking woman in the rear. He had never had the opportunity to actually teach the holy message of the Omnissiah, nor of Sollex, but he had taught initiates to the faith the basics of what they would be doing, and it was always the same. Some young hoodlum in the back chewing things that weren't meant to be chewed and shooting dirty looks. Students, they were always the same.

Getting his mind back on track he began again "Ah yes, well clearly you have done something. Because you are in a place where you wouldn't be if you hadn't see? Your logic was a little flawed but it's good to see you're trying. I'm sure if you keep applying yourself, and try very hard you'll get it right next time."

With a little smile and bob of his head, he turned towards the nearest soldier and promptly begain examining the Hellgun. It was a beautiful piece of work really. Not a patch on the walker earlier but surprisingly sophisticated nonetheless. He lovingly ran his hands over it, but refrained from pressing any buttons, or pulling the trigger, that wouldn't be respectful, not to a machine spirit he had just met. The soldier holding the gun was making noises and tugging on the gun. Lazerus rapped him across the knuckles.

"Hush, can't you see I'm busy?" he demanded.

Really, soldiers could be just so rude.

Varstras' expression hardened as he passed the scene in grim silence. He'd seen his fair share of this situation, be it interment for criminals, pens for slaves or simply kennels for those deemed unacceptable by the higher ups in society. He didn't much like it, but it was a fact of life he'd learned long before he had even stepped off the ship. He did, however, come up just behind Lazerus and take a long look at the lasgun the guard was holding. He'd heard about some of the many patterns of lasguns the Imperium held, but he was never good with actually picking them out by sight. He noticed the guard getting agitated by Lazerus' 'communion' with his weapon, so he thought to distract the man with conversation. "Hey...what're these guys in here for? Gangers?" He guessed, figuring that attackers would be the kind placed in such a malevolent holding pen.

The guard, though you cannot see his face, is obviously exasperated by the confusing antics of the techpriest attached to his weapon, starts up a bit at your voice. He seems to gain resolve, his back straightening. "Rebels, sir. Awaiting processing." He does not seem particularly eager to talk.

Varstras nodded, "Ah...I'm not surprised..." He commented and glanced across the compound, then turned back to the man. "One last thing...you wouldn't happen to know where I could find weaponry, would you? Maybe I could show it to my friend here and have him occupy someone else's time?" He said with a freindly grin and chuckle, gesturing to Lazerus.

Marcus gaze was hard as he stared at the "rebels". In his minds eye he saw them being transfered to prion colonies across the Imperium where they would live out the entirerty of their short lives in agony they could only dream of. He imagined the look of fanaticsm in the likes of his lesser inquisitor colleagues as they tortured them claiming they had forsaken the Emperor's Will. In truth Marcus knew they were just tired, hungry and scared people who had thought they would be better off away from the Imperium.

They were all fools of course but that didn't change the fact that they were hardly guilty of consorting with the Dark Powers nor were they truly deserving of the fate that lay before them. It was this sort of idiocy that made Marcus sympthize with the rebels. The need for brutallity was understood by Marcus. It was his job afterall to deal out such brutality. But there was a line that could be crossed he knew and it was a line the fanatics in the Imperium crossed often.

-Incomplete-

The Guardsman seems a bit hesitant to answer you. "I'm afraid not sir. You'll have to get authorization from the Colonel to access the Quartemaster's stores." He points at the hab block. "He and the Commisar 'ave set up a command post over there. He turns back to the tech priest, attempting to forcefully dislodge him from his weapon.

Varstras leans in to whisper into Lazerus' ear. "If we need authorization, I bet they have even MORE exotic guns and other machines with wonderfully unique spirits...come on, let's go get permission!" He said excitedly, tugging on the Tech-Preist's arm and torso impatiently.

Lazerus brightened up. At last! Someone was finally making sense! It was a wee bit of a bother to go get permission, but he was sure it would be worth it. Letting go of the Hellgun (in truth he shouldn't have been quite so fascinated. They were rare, but not THAT rare. It was just......weaponry in particular that made him feel a warm little glow inside. Besides the trooper had been moving too much for easy study anyway) he turned and nodded enthusiastically at Varstras.
Unfortunately he seemed to have a bit of mixed luck with the holy artefacts of the Omnissiah, in particular those installed when he had been called to priesthood. In this case his vox-synth had a bit of an....edge to it. Non-initiates often stated wincing in prolonged conversation with him, so he tried to avoid talking much now, unless of course it was about something interesting. Like gear ratios.

Varstras grinned widely and proceeded towards the hab block, Lazerus in tow as he motioned for everyone else to follow quickly.