Summary: You are Ninety-Nine, a tyranid hybrid made to combat the tyranid

She had to stay strong. This level of isolation was nothing compared to the roaring flames of battle. Ninety-Nine avoided the people in the ship, though once a day she moved with the servitors and pretended to be one just to feel part of a brood. Ninety-Nine watched the servitors move inside a cramped hallway. The ground suddenly rumbled.

“Translating into real space.” The ship’s vox announced.

The ship’s interior pipes and walls creaked heavily. Ninety-Nine whipped her head left and right in panic. Suddenly, the sounds stopped. There was a pulse of silence before the ship’s quiet hum resumed. She shrugged and followed the servitors until they reached a wide space, where tech priests and skiitari gathered. Ninety-Nine climbed on top of a cogitator, then grabbed onto a pipe above, then skulked in the dark to find a way back into her room.

“Subject Ninety-Nine to the command deck. Subject Ninety-Nine to the command center.” The voxes set in many corners announced. “Subject Ninety-Nine to the command deck. Subject Ninety-Nine to the command deck.”

Thanks to following the servitors, Ninety-Nine knew the basic layout of the ship, enough to know the important locations filled with people so she could avoid them. First, Ninety-Nine returned to her room to retrieve her hooded robe, then arrived at the command deck.

<span class="mu-i">Gotta hide it, need to hide it…</span>

As she walked, Ninety-Nine tugged robes to cover her hands and her tail wrapped her waist. She was at the command deck, though she was not sure what she was supposed to do.

>Ninety-Nine looked for Faustinius
>Ninety-Nine looked for Inquisitor Greyfax
>Ninety-Nine approached the tall battle-master with metal tendrils on his back
>Ninety-Nine stayed where she was, she was in the command deck after all and no one told her where she was supposed to be specifically.

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