Chapter 1: Offering

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the splitting pain in my head. The second was that I did not wake up in the bed I went to sleep in.

I groaned. The pain was like being stabbed in the head. It was like the most unpleasant form of hangover I've ever had but amplified a thousandfold. The sensation was akin to having a light shone into your eyes in the middle of the night. Like being thrown into cold water, or the feeling of an uncontrolled freefall, all at once, drawn out forever.

It was unbearable.

"…is waking up."

A voice, indistinct. Male.

"Good, 'bout time."

Another. Female. Younger.

"What kind of idiot gets drunk on Offering night? He's a fool."

Another. Male. Raspy.

"He's not the only one."

The female, again.

"Where am I?" I managed to mumble, leaning forward and cradling my head, eyes shut tight to block out the throbbing pain of the blinding lights. It was receding, mercifully, but ever so slowly.

"You're on your way to the Victorious Sword," the first voice again, the male, deeper than the rest.

"The what?" I said, squinting. I was just able to make out indistinct shapes. My sight was returning, and the pain was rapidly receding. It was still hideously uncomfortable.

"The Victorious Sword. The ship we're going to travel on," the female voice came again. I could not see the speaker. "Throne, he doesn't know anything."
"Looks like a farmhand to me. Probably got drunk because he didn't know it was Offering," the deeper voice said.

"Who doesn't know that?" The raspy voice again.

"Where am I?" I repeated. "Where am I, right now?"

"Aboard a transport, heading into orbit."

"Into orbit? C'mon," I moaned. I was in no mood for jokes. Were it not for the overwhelming pain, I would be somewhat more concerned about waking up surrounded by strangers, but in my addled state I could only assume this was a fever dream, or some sort of prank. Either way, the pain overruled my concern.

"Yeah…did you not remember being offered?" The deep voice asked. I looked up, and through bleary eyes I could make out the people who were sharing my…confines with.

There were ten of us, five on either side, sitting on cold metal benches against metal walls…a quick, startled examination proved that this was the transport hull of some sort of aircraft.

"Oh, what the fuck," I muttered. "How did this happen?"

I was out drinking with my friends last night, having a good time…I thought I made it back home and fell asleep in my bed, but now I wake up and I'm in the fucking army or air force or some shit…what the hell happened?

"Looks like he's actually waking up, eh?" Someone new spoke, the man sitting next to me. He poked me with his elbow to get my attention.

"You remember anything at all?" he said. He was skinny, scrawny in fact, shorter than me, with tanned skin and dirty blonde hair, with an unkempt mess of hair which might pass for a beard if you squinted. A thin, stubby moustache completed the look. He was a scraggly looking fellow. His eyes were pale blue and looked to be around my age. From his somewhat ragged look, he gave me the impression of a homeless man. An uncomfortable thought formed in my mind.

Had I passed out in the street and been picked up by some weird recruitment drive? Then I remembered I was in an aircraft, and grew even more concerned. Looking around the interior of the cabin, it was definitely a plane of some sort, complete with harnesses and camo netting in the roof. What was this? Did I get thrown into a plane and sent off to an airbase as a joke? Did I sign up for a role in some reality TV? Civilians in the airforce or some shit like that?

No, not unless something very wrong had happened in the time I was passed out. So, what was this? A cult?
"Hey, buddy, do you remember anything?" The same voice called out again. I looked over to the other side of the ship. The man calling out was dark skinned, with a thin layer of black hair on the top of his head. He was the tallest one in the ship, I realised, and looked like he had done hard work every day of his life. He was clean shaven and had the sort of easy-going attitude of a man who made friends with everyone.

"I remember…drinking with my friends…we were drunk, but we made it back home. I passed out in my bed, then woke up here."

"Wow, they got you out of your room. Dedication to duty, that is," it was the female voice, which I now saw came from a very pretty ginger girl next to the tall guy. She was short, and had a somewhat unkempt look, her curly orange hair stained by dirt and grease. She too was skinny. In fact, all but me, the tall guy, a rather plump dude and another, so far silent, woman seemed to be short and skinny. They also all looked dead tired, downright scrawny at worst or resigned and skinny at best. This was more than a little odd.

"Ok…who dragged me out? What sort of fucked up shit is this? Is this a joke? Because if not, this is a very big mistake!" I said, finally starting to regain some sense. The others gave me annoyed looks, with the only person speaking up being the fat guy.

"YES, YES, IT IS!" The plump man shouted. He was sitting in the middle of my row, next to the scraggy blonde who elbowed me. I couldn't see the other two people next to him, but everyone groaned when he said that. Apparently, they were in no mood for this. I stayed quiet, wanting to see how they reacted to someone claiming they weren't meant to be here. If I had been picked up by some weird cult, I didn't want them turning violent if I threatened to leave. I'd have to wait, be patient, and play my cards right. Then again, if I was in an aircraft, I don't know how I planned to do that.

And what was that about going to orbit?
A joke, surely.

"Oh, by his golden grace, shut up Desmond!" The tall guy shouted. "We all know you don't want to be here, but you were chosen like us, so don't fight it!"

"THIS IS A MISTAKE!" The plump man, Desmond, shouted. His clothes were a lot finer than everyone else's. While everyone else looked like they had just come from a farm or a factory, he looked like he had just come from a renaissance fair. Very strange indeed.

On closer inspection, he wasn't that much older than me. In fact, he might be younger than me. Looking around, everyone seemed to be of similar age.

"I'M NOT MEANT TO BE HERE; I CAN'T BE HERE AND YOU KNOW IT! LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT, LETMEOUT, LEMEOUT, LEMOUT! OUT, OUT, OUT!" Desmond said, growing increasingly desperate and high-pitched. He was having a full-on panic attack. Tears were streaming down his face and he rattled against the harness keeping him in place.

"What's his deal?" I said, trying to be as quiet as possible, lest I attract the attention of the possibly crazy man.

"Didn't want to be offered," the scraggy man told me. "Guess service in the Imperial Guard doesn't appeal to everyone." He laughed, but no one else laughed alongside him. They all either returned sullen or cold stares.

"Wait…the Imperial Guard?" I said, confused. I had to have misheard, right?

"Yep. The Emperor's finest," Scraggy said.

"Wouldn't that be the Space Marines?" I said, joking weakly, hoping against hope that he'd either look at me like I'm a lunatic, or recognise the phrase and then ask if I'm a 40k fan. I certainly didn't want him to act as though it was a real question.

"Well, suppose so, yeah. But the Imperial Guard is still great, though."

Fuck.

Fucking fuck. Fuckity fuckin' fuck.

I'm in fucking Warhammer 40,000 universe, aren't I? I got drunk and woke up in the 40k universe. As an Imperial Guardsman…no…an Imperial Guardsmen recruit. Holy shit. Fuuuuuck. The colour drained from my face. I never wanted to be in the army in real life. Not my kind of thing. But to be in the army in 40k…the Imperial Guard? The Astra Militarum?

Well suffice to say, I really would've chosen death then and there. In fact, had a gun presented itself before me, I would've shot myself to escape what I knew would come next. Alas, there was no gun, no means of escape and apparently no way to convince people that I was not meant to be here.

With a growing sense of fear and dread, I found myself agreeing with Desmond. I was not meant to be here. In fact, I would've preferred to be anywhere on Earth right now, rather then here, in this cargo hold, on my way to some godforsaken ship off to who knows what hell.

At the terrible realization of my newfound hellish reality, I tried as hard as I possibly could not to piss myself.