You are Lem Errus, native from the Hive World of Koronia. Born in the filth of the Underhive, you were swiftly put to work as a laborer for whatever needed doing and, eventually, as a menial worker for an ammunition factory after you were found to be dexterous enough with your hands.

War rages in the Lexonis Subsector, Koronia was expected to provide a new tithe of soldiers for Lord Militant Giselwin Sabex. The 60th Koronian Rifles were formed and you were conscripted into its ranks because of your decent enough knowledge on ammunition.

Though your hive’s nobility would’ve hoped for a grand parade to show off their newly raised regiment, the Lord Militant refused to waste anymore time at the planet, it seems the regiment was in a rush.

You entered a large transport shuttle along hundreds of riflemen just like you. You saw proud faces, hands locked in zealous prayer and destitute stares.

The transport lifted off to space and took you to a great voidship transport, though you had been offered no chance to stare out towards Koronia for one last time, or to even look at the voidship you were going to board.

You trudged along with the rest of your comrades through the great halls of the voidship. There you saw the Lord Militant as little more than a silhouette observing from a great platform above. The great halls gave way to smaller corridors as you were led to your barracks. For most of you and your fellows in the barracks, there was little to no sleep in the first few nights.

One morning, you awoke to a yell from a sergeant. Your whole barrack swiftly got into formation.

“Dress up, guardsmen. Ship enforcers need help to clean up some scum in the lower decks.”

You put on your pristine flak armor and helmet and ready your lasgun as you were taught. Your platoon was led down towards the corridors together until the lieutenant told each sergeant their orders.

Your sergeant, whose name you don’t know, has a grievous scar across his face, giving him a sort of harelip and keeping one of his eyes half-shut.

“Listen up squad. Name’s Malok, sergeant Malok. These bastards of the lower decks are foregoing their duty to the Imperium, their duty to you. If we let them do as they please, we might as well starve aboard this ship before even seeing any action.

Orders are simple, we head in there and shoot anyone who opposes us. Lord Militant himself ordered it, he’s in a rush to make us useful, y’see. So get to work!”

“Sir, yes sir!” All responded in unison.

“Good lads.” He marched ahead, sword and laspistol in hand and the squad followed.